


Announcements: Honeymoon

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-31
Updated: 2008-04-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A sequel to Announcements. All you need to know is that Brian and Justin just got married.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Monday, July 30th, 2007

I’m married. It's 6:15 A.M. and I’m leaving later today…with Brian Kinney…on our honeymoon. I've been lying in bed, awake, thinking, for the last two hours, how incomprehensible it is that I can write those words. Well… I wasn't exactly lying still or thinking coherently this entire time. Brian woke me up a little after four in the best of all possible ways: with his lips around my dick. I think he was dreaming, but who am I to complain that he’s living his dreams? He was back asleep minutes after I came. I have lost count of the number of times we have had sex in the last 36 hours. All thanks to the marriage that almost wasn't.

Technically, I guess we officially got engaged at about 1 A.M. on May 28th. I didn't get the proposal of my dreams this time around but, in all fairness, Brian tried that once and look where it got us. Nope, this time it was me who did the asking. Or, I guess I should say, the demanding. I told him that if we were getting back together, it was going to be for good. I was ready for a commitment, and I was through running off to seek fame and/or fortune.

What I realized, early the next morning, was that I insisted we get married as a prerequisite to reunion sex. Under those circumstances, Brian would probably have cut off his good nut in order to get his dick in my ass. I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling when he stirred and caught me contemplating this situation.

"Uh-oh," he muttered as his hand inched up from my abdomen to my chin. Grabbing it, he turned my face to his. "We may have been apart for nearly two years, Justin, but I know that look. What's the problem now?"

Years ago…hell, months ago…I would have smiled and said, “Nothing,” for fear of driving him away. But things had changed.

"Did you mean it last night or did you agree just so I'd let you fuck me?"

"Mean what?"

"That you wanted to marry me."

"If that's what you want, I'm fine with it."

"That's not what I asked."

He got serious and reared up over me. "Justin, what the hell? I love you. I never stopped loving you. I haven’t had my dick up anyone else’s ass for over a year. If that doesn’t convince you that I’m fucking serious about us, what the fuck will? What else would you like me to do to prove that you are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with? If you just want to live together, I'll do that. If you want a ring and vows, I'll do that too. Shit, if you want to live with your mother and commute, I don't care. Just as long as you’re here to stay. Now what the fuck _do_ you want?”

"I want to get married, Brian."

"Then let’s get married. But don't over analyze this thing. Let's do it, and let’s do it soon."

"Okay,” I said excitedly, “when?"

Brian rolled over and grabbed his palm pilot. "Christ, I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow. I have to run to the office today to deliver some specs." Bringing up next month’s calendar, he just stared and shook his head. "June's fucked too."

"That's all right." I snuggled up to his side and started lightly fondling his cock. "I don't want to compete with all those June weddings."

"We could do it over the 4th, but after that I'm pretty well booked till the end of July, which wouldn’t leave much time for a trip."

I looked at his calendar and inquired, "Can you pencil me in for the 28th?" He was getting hard.

He grabbed the stylus and typed in WEDDING as I ducked under the covers. I don’t think I have ever been happier to suck his dick than I was at that moment.

It was Memorial Day and still early, but that didn’t stop the phone from ringing. Michael seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Brian and he knew something was up.

"Hi, Brian, it's me...you awake? Call me.”

"Brian, Michael here. Were you at Babylon last night? Call me."

"Hey, Brian, pick up. I just had breakfast at the diner and heard you left Babylon last night with Justin. Justin, are you there?" Christ, it was barely 8:00, and Michael was on to us.

I started to go for the phone, but Brian caught my arm and pulled me back into bed.

"I know this is killing you but let’s just savor it for a day. Okay? You've got two months to get moist over this wedding. Remember what it was like last time when everyone found out?"

He was right, of course...on all accounts.

“I’m going to get up,” he continued “and get this shit taken care of for work. Go back to sleep. I’ll shut the fucking ringer off on the phone…or better yet….” He picked up his watch on the nightstand and grabbed his cell.

In a stroke of genius, he called Sam over at the gym and asked if Michael and Ben were there. They were. He instructed Sam to not mention a thing, then called Michael’s house and left a message saying he was leaving for Boston a day early. There was no mention of me or the events of the previous evening; just that he would call him when he got back. Nice trick.

Brian got into the shower, and the soothing sound of running water coupled with the relief that he really was fine with this marriage thing lulled me back to sleep. I woke up around noon, and he was still gone. The smell of coffee lured me to the kitchen, and the glow of his laptop screen steered me into the living room. Oh, this was just too good.

I knew it was wrong, but I was feeling so sure of myself. I sat down and immediately started reading his journal. As I read his words from the last couple of years, all the emotions I had experienced came flooding back. If only I had known. It seemed like I had started a picture with the words in my journal, and his entries completed it. It was a landscape of a battlefield where the war was fought by only us, two ridiculous individuals who used stubbornness and pride as their weapons. I had to show him that I surrendered, and I did it the best way I knew how.

I was still sitting, naked, at his desk when I heard the elevator start up downstairs. I ran to the bathroom, turned on the shower and quickly jumped in. If he was going to skin me, at least I’d be clean.

Brian never came into the bathroom. I exited, wrapping my lower half in a red towel and sheepishly made my way into the bedroom. He was in the kitchen washing the coffee pot.

“Sleep well, Sunshine?” Maybe he hadn't seen after all.

“Yeah…thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime. Has Michael called again?”

“No, but my mother has.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I haven’t answered.” Flopping down on the bed, I told him, “I think I’m gonna try your method. You know, just leave a message. I’m hoping by now she and Molly are out and about.”

Grabbing my cell from my discarded pants, I flipped it open and dialed her number. I wasn’t so lucky. She answered on the second ring.

“Justin, where are you?” Fuck.

“I’m at Brian’s.” _He looked at me, raised his brows and smiled. Setting the dishtowel down, he started for the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and socks on the way. Kinnetik was closed for the holiday, so he had just thrown on jeans and a t-shirt before he left. The t-shirt was coming off as he stepped up the stairs._

“Oh?” _That ‘oh’ was a definite question and unless I wanted to be interrogated, I needed to throw her a bone. He was standing next to me on the side of the bed when he dropped his pants._

“We talked last night. He had to leave for Boston, and he asked me to come over and take care of the loft while he’s gone. I’ll be here a few days.” _He was next to me on the bed now with his tongue in my free ear, making this already difficult conversation excruciating._

“I see. Do you need anything?” _Elbowing him in the chest was getting me nowhere._

“No, Brian’s got spare everything. I’m going to take advantage of the peace and quiet and get some work done. I’ll see you later this week. Call me if you need me.” _He had moved down my body and was sitting, bare-assed, on my outstretched legs. His back was to me when he captured both my ankles in one hand._

“Justin, is everything okay…with you and Brian?” _Christ, he was tickling my feet and I couldn’t move. His ass was just below my knees, and I was having no luck getting him to stop by attempting to shove the fingers on my free hand up it._

“Um…too soon to tell, Mom.” _I was having hell of a time trying to suppress my laughter._

“Well, what did he say when he saw you?” _Out of desperation, I leaned forward and slapped him hard upside the head and he froze. Oh, shit._

"We didn’t get to talk much, mom. He was in a hurry and all, you know?” _Hey, that part wasn’t a lie. He was now off my legs but he still had my ankles in a tight hold. Crouching at the bottom of the bed he was fumbling under it with his free hand._

“Well, I’m glad you’re still friends.” _Handcuffs. He pulled out handcuffs, ankle restraints and tethers._

“Yeah…we’ll always be that.” _He deftly secured a restraint around my left ankle and I unsuccessfully attempted to kick his hands away with my other foot. He looked up and shot me a glance that let me know he was serious. I let him secure the restraint to the bed tether without further protest._

_He completed an identical task on my other leg as I heard my mother say,_ "That makes me happy, Justin. I've come to believe that Brian has your best interests in mind."

"Well...we'll see." _He had moved to the head of the bed and was fastening the handcuff to my left wrist._ "I really need to get something accomplished today, mom, so I'd better go."

"Okay, I love you, honey." _He stood, patiently holding his hand out, waiting to accept my phone._

_I looked up and directed my words to her at him,_ "I love you, too. Bye." _Brian took my phone and shut it off._

"Why are you doing this?" I asked as he completed his task with my right wrist.

"I think you know. We are going to play a little game. It's called Justin-fills-in-the-blanks, and here's how it goes. I say a sentence, and you fill in the missing words. For every right answer, you get a prize. Ready?"

"Ready."

"I'm tying you up because you..."

"Hit Brian in the head?"

"and...."

"um...ah...read your journal?" I cringed when I said that, and he tilted his head and nodded slowly.

"Right." With this, he opened the towel at my waist and pulled it from under me. My cock was hardening, begging to be touched. He climbed between my outstretched legs and brought his head just inches from its rapidly expanding length. So close...I could feel his warm breath as he exhaled.

"Suck me," I pleaded.

A wicked laugh escaped his lips. "You don't get to make demands, little boy. You know why? Because you were..."

"Bad?"

"Right again." He placed his hands under my ass and lifted it as much as the tethers would allow. With his thumbs he spread me, exposing my hole to that same hot breath.

I squirmed and whined, "Briiiiian!"

"Shtttt," he shushed me, "Bad boys need to be...."

"Punished."

"Bingo. You always were quick. You'd better hope you continue to be, because you're going to lie here until you come. That's your punishment."

He was backing away. Slithering like a snake to the bottom of the bed. Once he got there, he found his footing and stood with his dick hard and bobbing. He bent down and grabbed the lube. Squirting some into his right hand, he massaged it into his palm to warm it and then grasped his penis. Slowly he glided his fist up its length.

"Damn, Justin. You look hot like that and this… God, it feels so good." He was kneeling on the end of the bed now. "If I close my eyes and squeeze, like this," he demonstrated, "it feels like I'm fucking your ass. I want to fuck your ass, Justin."

"Do it," I whimpered.

"I can't. You haven't come yet."

"Brian, how the fuck am I supposed to come if you won't touch me?"

"I don't know. That's something bad little boys have to figure out for themselves." He looked at me in lust and licked his lips.

I threw my head back and groaned.

"I don't think thrashing about is going to help, Justin." He was straddling my chest now. The weeping head of his dick was nearly close enough to suck. Nearly.

A sticky line of my own pre-cum was making its way into my navel, and my balls ached. I could see Brian's begin to pull up close to his body, and he increased his speed.

"Don't let me come without you, Justin." He was looking in my eyes when he said it and then dropped his head to watch the action taking place below.

He drew his other hand to his mouth and sucked two fingers in. They were generously coated in spit when he withdrew them and angled his arm behind his back. The ache in my balls had become a familiar tingle. I could smell him, and my mouth was watering.

He spread his legs a bit wider and leaned forward a little so he could reach behind and massage his hole. His knuckles grazed my chest ever so lightly as he continued to stroke his dick. He was close enough now. I lifted my head to suck in a firm, hard nipple, and he gasped. That sound was my trigger. I pulled away and watched him watching me as my dick convulsed. I shot thick streams of hot semen down the inside of Brian's thigh.

He stopped masturbating, and his face lit up with a smile. "Good boy," he said as he quickly unhooked the tethers holding my wrists. He was undoing my ankles seconds later and gathering my legs to his shoulders. His lubed dick was inside me, finally, as I groped and clawed at his back. Brian pulled back and then rammed himself in fully. His lips were at my throat when he came. "Fuck, Justin...you have no idea how much I missed this," and then, "I don't care who knows." If I wasn't still in that post-orgasmic bliss, I think I would have come again.

The rest of the day and the next night were spent in a drug, sex, and alcohol induced haze. It wasn't until after I dropped him off at the airport and drove the 'Vette back to the loft that what had happened and what was going to happen began to sink in.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Monday, July 30th, 2007  
9:20 AM

I'm back. I had to take a break because Brian woke up. We showered, ate some breakfast and then, since this will be the first time he has been away from Kinnetik for an extended period of time, he just HAD to run down to work for a few hours. I got my orders before he left, however. "Be ready to go and be dressed in the light blue silk shirt, khaki pants and tan loafers by the time I get home." The taxi that will take us to the airport is scheduled to be here at 12:45. I have plenty of time. I seriously doubt he will walk through that door before 12:30.

Have I mentioned that I have no idea where we are going? The deal was that I got to plan the wedding, and he got to plan the honeymoon. He even insisted on packing for me. Right now, there are three large suitcases sitting next to the door. His, mine and ours. I have no idea what's in the ‘ours’ but I have a feeling if airport security decides to inspect it, I'm gonna be really embarrassed.

He has only given me one worthless hint as to our destination. It is going to be hot. It's July 30th, for Christ sake. Where on earth isn't it hot? The only other concession he made was to let me pack my own carry-on. I threw my toiletries, ipod, cell phone, chargers, sketchpad, pencils, and a couple of books in there this morning. What a pleasure it is to not have to worry about condoms. Now I am set with two hours to burn.

So, where was I? Oh yeah, after I dropped Brian off at the airport, I came back home to an empty loft. I spent the day cleaning up the previous twenty-four hours of debauchery, bought groceries, rented a couple movies and lay on the couch that evening in blissful peace and quiet. Sometime during the night, I stumbled into the bedroom and didn’t wake up until 10 the next morning. Considering the sleep deprivation I had suffered the two previous nights, I probably could have slept the entire day away but my growling stomach woke me up.

While I now had plenty of food to make at the loft, I decided I was just as hungry for conversation. Brian was right; I was dying to tell someone the news. Daphne would have been my first choice but she was out of town. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell Michael or Lindsay, and if I told Deb, everyone would know before Brian even returned. I decided Emmett was a good choice. He had commiserated with me often while Brian and I were broken up, and he had seen us leave Babylon together on Sunday night. I knew he would be inquisitive.

I needed the exercise so I walked over to the diner and settled myself into an empty booth. Thankfully, Deb doesn’t work as many hours as she used to, so she wasn’t there for the mid-week lunch crowd. Emmett didn’t disappoint me, though. He showed up just as my club sandwich and fries were arriving.

“He’s alive!” Emmett chided as he slid in his seat across from me. “Come on…dish.”

“Are you expecting anyone else?”

“Like who?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Ted? Drew? Whoever you fucked last night?”

“Sweetie, it was Tuesday. My hand is already here. With Brian out of town, Teddy is too busy to eat, and Drew is off on a photo shoot. What the fuck happened after you and Brian left Babylon on Sunday?”

I took a gulp of my coke, wiped my mouth and smiled. I wanted to do this with more suspense, but the words failed me. “We’re getting married,” I beamed.

Emmett, in uncharacteristic calm, returned my smile, took my hand, and simply stated, “I knew it.”

He caught me off guard, “You knew it?!” I asked incredulously.

“Well, not the fact that he actually proposed, but I was standing there with him Sunday night, you know, at Babylon?”

I looked at him quizzically and shook my head slightly, signaling my misunderstanding.

“He was on the catwalk, Justin, scanning the crowd when he saw you. I was up there, too. We were talking; just bull shitting, but when he caught sight of you, it was like someone had knocked the wind out of him. He stopped in mid-sentence and never took his eyes off of you. When he did speak, all he said was, ‘He’s not getting away again.’ After everything you and I have talked about, I knew that you wouldn’t settle for less this time. I’m so happy for you. Congratulations, baby!”

With this Em nearly climbed over the table to hug me, but I resisted. “Thanks, but not here…Brian’s not ready to tell the world. I just had to let somebody know.”

“I’m honored,” he stated, sitting back down. “Now I want all the dirty details.”

So between a club sandwich for me and a BLT for him, that’s just what he got. It felt good. He was excited to start the wedding planning process with me and promised to keep it a secret for the moment. As we were finishing, Em asked, “So where will you be staying until the wedding?”

Now there’s something I hadn’t considered when I answered, “Ah…at the loft, where else?”

“Mmm.” He nodded and somehow seemed disappointed.

“What?”

“I don’t know…it’s just that…wouldn’t it make the wedding, not to mention the wedding night, much more exciting if you didn’t live together until then? You know, abstain?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

“Oh, I’m not saying no sex at all. I was just thinking a little less togetherness at this point would make the wedding night, and honeymoon all the better. Stupid, heterosexual idea huh?” he crinkled his nose and smiled.

“Afraid so,” I confirmed as we stood to leave and hugged. “That would never fly with Brian and right now, it doesn’t sound too good to me either.”

We settled on a meeting time to begin the formal arrangements and - with my immediate needs satisfied - I began the twenty minute walk back. It was sunny and hot, and it gave me time to process our conversation. Emmett had planted a seed, and by the time I reached the loft, it was germinating.

****************************************  
“So Emmett knows about the wedding,” I casually mentioned as Brian unpacked his suitcase two days later.

“You just couldn’t stand it, could you?” He smirked.

“I had to tell somebody,” I admitted. “And besides, he’s helping me plan it.”

Brian just shook his head and continued hanging up his clothes.

“I was thinking, it might make it more special if I wait to move in until after we’re married.”

He stopped at this remark and dropped the sweater he had been holding onto the bed. “What?”

“Well, you see, Emmett and I were talking…”

“Emmett? You’re taking advice from Emmett? Justin, what the fuck happened to you while you were gone?” He had retrieved his cell and was punching in numbers with his thumb. I didn’t answer. The phone was up to his ear now, and I distinctly heard Emmett’s ‘hello’ on the other end.

“Honneycutt? It’s Brian…shut the fuck up, I don’t care how you want to be addressed. This isn’t a social call. I understand that Miss Manners over here wants you to plan our wedding. That’s fine, but suggesting he stay somewhere else until then is so fucked up I would be doing a disservice to munchers everywhere to term it lesbianic. You two throw what ever gala event your little hearts desire, but unless you want to be throwing it with your balls in a jar, stick to the wedding and stay out of my bed.”

With that he clicked the phone off and threw it down.

“That was a bit harsh.” I remarked from my vantage point near the doorway.

He approached wild eyed, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me in fast and hard for a forceful kiss. Breaking it, he kept his mouth inches from mine and spit out, “Justin, we are two gay men who have been apart for seventeen months, and now we’re getting married. I told you not to over analyze this.” I could feel his dick hardening against my hip through his jeans. “Now get in the car, go over to your mommy’s, get your shit, and come home.”

He let go of his grip, placed his fingertips on my chest and pushed me back in the direction of the stairs. Then he turned wordlessly and resumed his unpacking. End of discussion.

****************************************  
The next six weeks were pretty uneventful. Brian worked like a fiend while Em and I planned. We put my mother in charge of invitations and guest lists and that kept her happy and involved enough to suit the both of us. With the recent turn of events, I had decided against summer classes at PIFA and submitted everything necessary to start in fall. That accomplished, I really didn’t have much else to do. It was just one of the reasons I welcomed the call from Jefferson Stace on the 18th.

“Justin, it’s Jefferson in New York.”

“Oh, Hi. Is everything okay?”

“More than okay. I sold one of your big pieces; Frost and Light. The buyer is Anderson and Dumont, an architectural firm that is opening new digs. They would like to meet with you about the possibility of purchasing several more pieces. Can you be here next Tuesday?”

“Shit, Jefferson, I’m getting married a week from Saturday.”

“Married? Well, congratulations. Are you retiring?”

“Well, no, but it’s just such short notice and so close to the wedding.”

“That’s the way it works in this business. Feast or famine, you know? Anyway, this is big, Justin. You made four grand off this piece, and he wants several more. The best part is, they design homes for the uber-rich. Just think of the exposure that Justin Taylor originals, hanging in their meeting and design rooms could bring you down the line.”

He was right. While money really wasn’t an issue at the moment, I had no intention of becoming a kept man. My financial status might not rival Brian’s but I fully intended to do my part in our marriage. “I’ll make it happen, Jefferson. Set up a meeting for Tuesday afternoon if possible. I’ll talk to Brian tonight. I should be able to fly in that morning and back out on Wednesday if you think that will be sufficient.”

“Make it Thursday. If things go well on Tuesday, the client will probably want to take you over to their new office space the next day. If not, you can always leave early.”

“Okay and thanks. Call me with the time. I take it we will be meeting at Regent?”

“Yeah, unless you hear differently. I’ll e-mail you the time. See you Tuesday, then?”

“Tuesday it is.”

 

“So you and Emmett have accomplished your mission of staying away from me before the wedding after all, huh?” Brian mused later that evening.

I just broke the news to him over dinner, and while I wasn’t about to admit it, that thought had crossed my mind. “Oh, come on, Brian. How could I have set this up? It’s important, and like you’ve always said, it’s business. You of all people know I have to be available when a client wants to meet me.” I had him there.

“I know, and it’s fine,” he chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what I was going to do with you next week anyway.”

While neither of us voiced it, we had more or less superstitiously avoided planning any of the same events that were staged the first time around, and our evenings next week were going to be pretty free. We already had had a final fitting on our tuxes, and there was going to be no rehearsal dinner. Gus was in place as our ring bearer, and he was all we needed. Most importantly, Brian insisted there was to be no bachelor party. To insure that, he told Ted, if there was, he’d be fired. For the past two weeks, Ted has been pestering Michael daily to make certain one didn’t materialize. It was really quite amusing.

“Where do you plan on staying?” he inquired.

“Hmm, I haven’t thought about it. I’ve always just stayed at my place, but there’s not a ‘my place’ any more.”

Brian took a last drink of his wine, stood, refilled his glass and carried it over to the computer.

“Where’s the meeting going to be held?”

“At the gallery, you know…the one you never showed up at.”

He flipped me off and asked, “Soho, right?”

“Yeah,”

“How about a suite at the Soho Grand?”

I joined him at the computer and peered over his shoulder. “Nice, but it’s $730 a night, Brian.”

“Hey, you’re going to be rich, remember? Jefferson says so.”

“Fuck you.” I ruffled his hair and pushed his head toward the screen as I walked away.

“I’m a frequent guest. I can get you a decent room there for about $300.”

“And I can stay with friends for the price of a six pack,” I yelled back from the kitchen.

“You’re staying at the Grand. It’s booked.”

“What the fuck, Brian?”

“Don’t worry, it’s on me. Consider it an early wedding present.”

“Why would I want an expensive hotel room without you in it for a wedding present?”

He motioned me back over. “Wait until you see the bathroom and then ask me that.”

I walked back and stood next to him, looking at the computer screen. I saw smoked glass doors opening from the master suite to a gleaming, black, oversized, claw foot, jetted tub surrounded by mirrors. His hand was cupping my ass, and he squeezed, “You can soak this, in that. Get it all primed and ready for me.”

He swiveled his chair away from the screen and pulled me to his lap. “Stay there and call me from that tub. I think we’ll have plenty to talk about.”

He kissed me then and got serious.

“I don’t want money to be an issue with us, Justin. From now on, it’s ours. If I’ve got it, you’ve got it and vice versa. I expect, in the long run, you’re going to be able to buy me out twice over so quit worrying.” Then he added with a smirk, “And find yourself a better class of friends.”

“My friends are of no consequence to you,” I giggled, “But thanks, and if it’s all right, when I get back, I’d like to spend Thursday and Friday nights at my mom’s.”

Brian rolled his eyes “You don’t have to ask my permission, Justin.”

“I know, but things have been going so well for us, I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Oh, if I had only known how prophetic those words were going to be.  



	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Monday, July 30th, 2007  
10:45 AM  
  
I’m dressed now and left with nothing to do. As I discussed with Jefferson, I ended up flying to New York this past Tuesday. Brian took the morning off because he knew it was going to be our last chance to fuck until after the wedding. We slept in, and I made banana pancakes for breakfast. He had me for dessert, and then we made love again in the shower before I left. He didn’t want to do it on the bed because he said it reminded him of the last time I left for the city. Sometimes it amazes me that he remembers those kinds of details.   
  
This time he took me to the airport on his way into work. “Have fun, make lots of money, and call me later," he said as we kissed good bye.   
  
“I will.” I told him as I turned to leave. “I love you.”  
  
“Don’t have too much fun,” were his last words as he slapped me on the ass and watched me walk to the security checkpoint.   
  
  
“Soho Grand,” I told the taxi driver as he hoisted my bag into the trunk. It had only been a few weeks since I had been in New York, but now I was looking at it through a fresh set of eyes. My world had changed, and everything seemed more vivid and alive. Driving down Broadway, I noticed the marquee for “The Lion King” and chuckled to myself at the memory of Gus, Danny and me attending the show last September. I wondered what Danny was up to, so I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and punched in the familiar number.  
  
“Justin!” came the greeting after a couple of rings.  
  
“Hi, Danny, what are you doing?”   
  
“Just sitting here getting stoned with Alex’s cat.”  
  
“In other words, not much has changed huh?”  
  
“Not with me, but the cat had kittens. You want one?”   
  
“Hey, I’d love one, but Brian would never stand for it. He’s too much of a neat freak to deal with a litter box in the loft.”  
  
“You’re so whipped, Justin. But, if I remember correctly, he’s got a perfect tool for keeping you in line. Where are you, anyway?”  
  
“In a cab, heading down Broadway.”  
  
“Oh cool, you’re in town. Are you coming over?”  
  
“Right now I’m going to a hotel. I have a meeting with some architect at the gallery this afternoon who might commission some paintings from me. I might be available tonight or tomorrow night, though. What are you and Alex doing?”  
  
“Ah…don’t know. But you are welcome to do what ever it is with us.”  
  
“Great. I’m staying at the SoHo Grand. I’ll call you when I get out of the meeting. Oh, and Danny…Brian and I are getting married.”  
  
“Holy shit! Are you serious?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Well then we have to get together! Call me later or we’ll come track you down at your hotel and do something really embarrassing.”  
  
"I can always count on you."  
  
"Hey, what are friends for? Talk to you later."  
  
"Bye."  
  
********************************************************************************  
It was nearly 1:00 when I arrived at the hotel. My meeting was at 2 and check-in was at 3. I was hoping to simply be able to leave my bag behind the desk somewhere when the attendant addressed me.   
  
"The penthouse is ready, Mr. Taylor. Would you like to check in now?"  
  
"Penthouse? I think there's been a mistake."  
  
"No...no mistake. Mr. Kinney always reserves the penthouse. Can I take your bag?"  
  
I cautiously handed it over and followed him to the elevator that took us to the top floor. I was disturbed and confused. My mind was trying to calculate how much of a tip you give someone for carrying one bag into a room that runs somewhere around a grand a night. I don't know how to do 'rich.'  
  
He unlocked the door and ushered me in. I had to make a conscious attempt to keep my jaw firm so it didn't drop to the floor. This place was bigger than the fucking loft. I handed the guy a ten (I still don't know if that was appropriate or not) and thanked him as he quietly left. Standing there I immediately felt in my pocket for my phone, produced it and called Brian.  
  
"Hey, where are you?" was his greeting.  
  
"I'm standing in the North Penthouse at the Soho Grand."  
  
"Nice, huh?"  
  
"Can we really afford this, Brian?"  
  
"No, I'm just hoping to impress you so you'll put out."  
  
"I'm serious, Brian. This is not necessary."  
  
"What did I tell you last night? Don't worry, I'm a frequent flier at that place, remember?"  
  
"It's fantastic, thank you. But I'm still worried."  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"Not really worried. Just nervous, I guess, about the meeting and all. I don't have as much experience selling myself to clients as you do."  
  
"Sit down and pour yourself a drink. There's a courtesy bar over by the desk."  
  
I looked around. "What desk? There's like three of them."  
  
"The one with the really cool lamp on it."  
  
"Oh, okay. You do know this place, don't you?"  
  
"The bar is to the left in the thing that looks like a file cabinet."  
  
"Ah-ha, found it!" I took one of those little bottles of JB out, broke the seal and drank directly from it.   
  
"Now listen to me. Your work has already made the sale, Justin. Just go there and be your pleasant, Sunshiny self. Assure them that you can produce whatever they ask for but don't sell yourself short. Remember, they already want you. Make them pay for it."  
  
I knew he was right, and he didn't say anything I didn't already know, but it was still good to hear. I was silent and he continued, "And by the way, I'm proud of you."  
  
"Thanks, Brian. Love you."  
  
"Me, too. Now get your drunken ass out of that incredibly comfortable chair and go make some money."  
  
"Later." I laughed and hung up. I am so lucky.   
  
******************************************************************************  
  
Xavier Dumont was a laid back, likeable fellow who put me at ease instantly. He had already viewed several of my earlier pieces on the gallery's website and felt that my work would complement their new office on the Lower East Side. His established firm was trying to attract a young clientele with enough cash, savvy and foresight to look beyond the cookie cutter homes of the suburbs. In addition to displaying my pieces in several meeting rooms, he was interested in having someone compose background art that would tie together architectural drawings they already had of homes in various stages of completion. I liked that concept and assured him that, as a direct result of my fellowship time in Italy, I had plenty of experience working with artists of differing disciplines. I think that impressed him.   
  
If nothing else, he decided he wanted to see more of me. Xavier invited Jefferson and me to dinner that evening with him and his wife at Blue Hill. Brian had insisted I bring a suit, and I have learned from previous experience to always take Brian’s advice in wardrobe matters. I went back to the hotel, showered and slipped into the charcoal Hugo Boss ensemble he had picked out before I left for New York two years ago. As he said back then, the classic cut of it never goes out of style and, because I wear suits so seldom, I was very thankful for that.   
  
I remembered to call Danny also and tell him I couldn't make it that night. Instead we decided to meet at Jake’s at 8 on Wednesday. I picked that place because it was relatively safe from temptation and the bar food was good. I knew he, Alex and I would end up getting very drunk, and the prospect of a place like Crobar, with numerous back rooms, could prove to be too enticing once my guard was down. Jake’s was nothing more than a slightly classier Woody's, frequented mostly by trolls.   
  
After the call, I made a final check in the mirror, and was off. The deal was clinched over dinner in the oddest of ways. I honestly think Xavier and his wife, Sarah, wanted to give me the commission because I was gay. For once, my sexual orientation was not a detriment. We were making polite conversation during the main course, when Sarah looked at Xavier and exclaimed.  
  
"I've got it, now I know who Justin reminds me of: Stephen!"  
  
Xavier responded, "You know, I don't see a resemblance but he certainly sounds like him, and they have the same mannerisms, don't they?"  
  
I looked amused and confused.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sarah continued touching my arm, "Stephen is our son Paul's ex. They were together for nearly ten years, and when they broke up it was like losing a member of the family."   
  
"I understand," I responded. Since they obviously were cool with this and since I had already downed three glasses of wine, I felt I could share a little personal information myself. "I think my mother felt somewhat the same when Brian and I were broken up."  
  
"Were?" Sarah asked, "Does that mean you’re back together?"  
  
"Sarah," Xavier cautioned. "That's really none of your business. I'm sorry, Justin. I'm afraid the master match maker is busy at work."  
  
"It's okay," I reassured him. "I don't mind. In answer to your question," I looked at Sarah, “Yes, Brian and I are back together and as a matter of fact, we're getting married this Saturday."   
  
"Married!" she gushed. "You're getting married in four days, and you flew to New York just to meet with us?"  
  
"It's my job." I think I was blushing, and Jefferson was kicking my toe lightly under the table.  
  
"I'm impressed," Sarah went on, "Xavier, hire this man." Turning back to me she stated, "And when you finish your pieces for the business, I'd like to commission one for our home. I like you, Justin."  
  
"Thank you. I like you, too."  
  
"Well," Xavier stated as he extended his hand across the table, "I guess it's a deal then. What do you say, Justin?"   
  
I took his hand and shook it as he continued. "Jefferson has already quoted us your prices of course, but I'd like to go over them with you and Richard, my partner at the firm. Can you two come by the office tomorrow, say around 10? That way you will be able to verify the space and take some measurements. We'll have copies of the drawings we'd like you to embellish available, too."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Dumont. I can make it. Jefferson?”  
  
“It would be a pleasure,” Jefferson responded. “I’ll swing by the hotel and pick you up at about 9:15.”   
  
Sarah had ordered a bottle of Dom by now to seal the deal and celebrate my engagement. I suddenly felt like I had just experienced a congratulatory dinner with the parents every gay boy dreams of having. I hoped this partnership, just like Brian’s and mine, would be a long and prosperous one.  
  
********************************************************************************  
It was after eleven by the time I got back to my 'penthouse'. I swear, no matter how much money I make, I don't think I will ever be able to justify spending vulgar amounts of it on a room I’ll only be in long enough to shit, shower and sleep. That tub was beckoning me though, and Brian did say to call him from it.   
  
I decided to get all of the essentials ready so I would be undisturbed. I phoned the front desk and asked them to hold any calls just in case Danny or Alex tried to contact me. I didn't have to worry about them getting up to the room, however, as you needed a special code just to get the elevator to this floor. I started running the water, lit some candles, and popped some soft jazz into the CD player. In the bathroom, I found complementary bath oil and added it to the water. After all, you never can have too much lube. Phone in hand I stepped in and sunk into the silky depths. This, I could get used to.   
  
I dialed Brian’s cell and was half hard just thinking of the conversation that was to come. His phone rang, and rang, and rang. Finally I heard the familiar, “Hi, it’s Brian, leave me a message,” and I became deflated in more ways than one. “Hey, it’s me. It’s about 11:30. I’m in the tub. Call me. Quick!” I guessed there was a chance he could have been taking a shower. I checked my phone once again for any messages I may have missed but there weren’t any. I lay in the tub and relaxed, listening for the call back that never came. A half hour later the water was getting cold and I was nodding off. Stepping out, I toweled myself dry, blew out the candles and hit the sack.   
  
********************************************************************************

Wednesday was fine. I woke up early and went for a walk before breakfast. While I was heading up West Broadway my cell rang.   
  
“Brian?”  
  
“Yeah,” his voice cracked.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“No, I’m dying,” he croaked back.  
  
“What’s the matter?” My heart was racing.  
  
“Bottle flu. Sorry I wasn’t home last night when you called.”  
  
“You had a bachelor party!” I chided him.  
  
“Don’t talk so fuckin’ loud. There was no party. It was just me and Michael. Pathetic motherfucker.”  
  
“Oh my god, for you to be this hung over, it must not have been pretty. Who’d you fuck?”  
  
“Christ, Justin, nobody. We started at Woody’s and ended up here. Remember what the place looked like the morning after his 30th birthday?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, it kinda looks the same way right now.”  
  
“Oh Brian, I hate to say it, but I’m glad I’m not there.”  
  
“I wish I wasn’t here either. Everything’s been put in your name so when I die later today, don’t let the bastards tell you otherwise.”  
  
I chuckled, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. Did you make the sale?”  
  
“Yup, I’m going over to their new offices in a little while to firm things up.”  
  
“Well, don’t get too firm. At least not till you call me tonight.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”  
  
“Hey, I said I was sorry. I’m gonna go puke some more. Call me later.”  
  
“Later.”  
  
That enlightening conversation was followed by breakfast, a jog back to my room, a shower and a ride with Jefferson over to Anderson & Dumont. There, Xavier introduced us to Richard Anderson who was quiet and reserved. The four of us negotiated what I feel is a generous price for my services with a 5% bonus if I can have everything completed by December 1st. It’s not going to be easy with the wedding, our trip and school, but I think I can do it. Hopefully I can incorporate some of these pieces into my course work and kill two birds with one stone.   
  
Jefferson and I then spent the early afternoon hours down at the gallery. They will receive a portion of my commission from this sale also and he wanted to know if I was interested in continuing working through them. Silly question as far as I was concerned. Without Regent, where would I be right now? Even while I was in Italy, they promoted my work. While I’m not going to have much to give them over the next six months, we agreed one or two Justin Taylor originals would always be hanging on those worn brick walls.   
  
Business completed, I had a few hours to myself before I met the guys for dinner and drinks. I did a little shopping and then went back to the hotel for a nap. I wanted to call Brian, but I didn’t want to disturb him if he was still sleeping it off. Plus, I had a feeling that the next time we spoke there would be sex involved, and I wanted to save that for the evening.   
  
  
Jake’s was dark and smoky and even as early as eight, the regular crowd had taken their seats around the bar. I recognized some of the same faces from last summer. Seeing Alex sitting at our usual corner table seemed surreal. Like I was going to wake up any minute now and find out that this was still my world too. Italy and Gus and Brian and our wedding were all just this fantastic yearlong dream I’d been having.   
  
“Taylor!” he yelled from across the bar. “You in a fuckin’ daze or what? Get your ass over here.” When I got to the table he grabbed me and pulled me to his chest in a bear hug. “I hear you’re settling down. What’s that all about?”   
  
“Yup, I finally got Brian to commit. As far as settling down goes, it’s not like I lived that unsettled of a life in the first place, remember?”  
  
“Yeah, you always were the most boring of the bunch…well, congratulations, I guess. I hope this is what you want.”  
  
“Thanks Alex, Brian has always been what I wanted. Hey, where’s Danny?”  
  
Alex looked around as if he was stalling. “Danny? Um…ah…oh fuck. He went to get your date.”  
  
“My date? What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“I never was any good at keeping surprises. It’s your bachelor party, dipshit. You didn’t honestly think we were going to let this evening go by with some burgers and a few beers did you?”  
  
“But…I don’t want a bachelor party,” I pleaded.  
  
“Too bad. Suck it up, ‘cause here they come.”  
  
Danny was walking ahead of someone and they were both nearing our table as the striptease music started. Fuck, I thought, they got me a hustler who was going to come over here and give me a lap dance or worse. I had my face buried in my hands and was shaking my head when an all too familiar voice said, “Well, how are you ever gonna suck my dick like that?” I raised my head and opened my eyes to none other than Trevor Connelly. He was shirtless and had his arms spread wide.   
  
“Trevor!” I exclaimed as I jumped up and wrapped myself around him. “Thank God, it’s just you!”   
  
“Just me! I take that as an insult,” he said as he pushed me back down in my chair. He was hovering over me, hands on my shoulders, pinning me down while his hips swiveled in my face. I looked up and he bent down until our foreheads were touching.   
  
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just really didn’t want a hustler. It’s great to see you, and I like your new haircut. It's hot!”  
  
He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. “That’s more like it.”  
  
“How long have you been in town?” I asked as he pulled a chair up to our table.  
  
Danny answered for him. “He moved back a few weeks ago. I almost told you on the phone yesterday, but when you said you were getting married, I wanted it to be a surprise.”  
  
“Well, you accomplished your mission,” I told the three smiling faces surrounding me. “Are you back for good?”  
  
“Yeah, unless Hollywood comes calling again. California’s nice but unless you have a project you’re a nobody. If I’m gonna be a nobody, I might as well be one here, where my friends are.”  
  
“You’re not a nobody,” I assured him. “But I do know, all too well, what you’re saying.”  
  
“Hey, enough of this lame ass shit,” Alex chimed in. “Let’s eat and get drunk.”   
  
And, that is just what we proceeded to do. Four hours later, the place was standing room only, and we all needed some fresh air. I should have known better than to invite my three drunken friends to the Penthouse.  
  
* For additional viewing pleasure check out [Grand](http://www.sohogrand.com/) \- [Soho ](http://www.sohogrand.com/)Click on Guest Rooms & Amenities, Penthouse Lofts. That bathroom is to die for.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Monday, July 30th, 2007  
Nearly Noon

I took another break, brushed my teeth, called Brian to make sure he would be home soon, and now I’m still sitting here alone, with nothing to do. I wouldn’t be surprised if I get a call any minute from him now, telling me to just meet him at the airport. I was leery about him going into work today, but I’m going to try to remain calm and look at the bright side. I have been meaning to update this journal for two months now, and I’m finally getting to it. If I wait until after our honeymoon, I may never get this part down.

The warm summer night that greeted us outside of Jake’s last Wednesday did nothing to sober any of us up. I remember telling them over and over, “You guys hafta be quiet…real quiet when we get to the hotel. ‘K? Cuz if you aren’t, I’ll get kicked out and then Brian won’t marry me.”

That rationalization seemed logical at the time. I could just picture the three of them putting on an obnoxious, drunken show in the lobby of the Grand, and the manager calling Mr. Kinney to advise him that his rowdy guest had been ejected.

We were walking arm in arm, four abreast down the sidewalk. Alex was on the end, and I vaguely remember him walking into a parking meter and then falling off the curb into the street. Naturally, we found this hilarious. From what I have managed to piece together, it took us 45 minutes to walk approximately seven blocks. I’m amazed we even found the fucking place.

But we did. And, better yet, we found the elevator. The buttons IN the elevator were another story all together. We kept pushing the one for the top floor but each time we got there, I wandered out into a hallway that did not contain the door to my penthouse. We found this incredibly funny as well, until some guest on that floor telephoned security.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Taylor?” an official-looking man asked me.

I instinctively looked back just to make sure my dad wasn’t with us and then realized he was addressing me. “No, no, everything’s not all right, “ I responded. “I can’t seem to find my room.”

“Are you using the code?”

“What code?”

He took pity on us and escorted us to the suite. I think I tried to give him a fifty for that.

"Thank you, Mr. Taylor, but that won't be necessary," he said handing the bill back to me. "Just see to it that you and your friends stay put for the rest of the night, all right?"

"Hear that, friends," I said, turning too quickly as the room continued to spin around me. "Whoa," I grabbed the back of a nearby chair. "Even though it's gonna be hard (I'm sure I over emphasized that word), ya gotta stay put for the evening. Thank you, officer." And then I’m pretty sure I saluted him.

Whatever I did, it amused the other three because they were giggling like the idiots they are when the guy left. Danny had found the courtesy bar and was busy attempting to build a pyramid with the little liquor bottles on the top of the desk. The rest of us promptly joined in and turned it into a drinking game. Each of us took a turn adding a bottle and whoever made it topple had to pick one and drink it. I think the only thing that saved me from alcohol poisoning that night was a full bladder.

I stumbled into my bedroom and through the smoked doors that led to the master bath to pee. Standing there holding my dick triggered something. Fuck, I was supposed to call Brian.  
Mmmm...Brian. The thought filled me with more warmth than the liquor ever could and I involuntarily began to harden. I finished up in the bathroom, walked back into the master suite and shut the sliding doors to the living area. I could still hear the boys’ continued laughter, but at least it was muted.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and dialed his number.

"It's about time you called," were the words he used to greet me.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah."

"Feeling better?"

"All recovered."

"I'm feeling pretty good myself."

"Oh yeah? Are you feeling yourself?"

"Not yet, but I can be." I unzipped and shoved my free hand down my pants.

"Are you in the tub?"

"No, I'm on the bed. Where are you?"

"I'm headed to our bed."

"Our bed, I like the sound of that. Wish I was there with you right now."

"Oh, but that would spoil the little pre-marital virginity thing you've got going on."

"Fuck you."

"If you were here, I'd let you. I'm ready for you to fuck me, Justin. It's been awhile."

"Oh my god, Brian. Take it a little slower okay? I'm not quite ready to come yet."

He moaned lightly into my ear signaling that we were now performing identical actions. "Are you naked?" he whispered.

"No, hang on a second." I set the phone down and stripped, flinging my clothes across the room. I scooted up against the pillows on my bed and sat with my knees drawn up and spread slightly.

"I'm back, and naked. This room is amazing, Brian. Thank you so much."

"You can thank me by making me come. I'm lubed, Justin, and I've got a dildo. It's that black one you like so much."

"Jesus Christ, Brian, I want to be inside you." I squeezed my dick hard, imagining how tight his asshole was. Just then the bedroom door slid open a crack, and Trevor slipped his body in sideways. Closing it silently, he clicked the lock behind him, something I had obviously forgotten to do.

"You are inside me, Justin," I heard Brian's velvet voice in my ear. My breath hitched as I stared at Trevor and shook my head. He matched my negative gesture with a positive one. Bringing his index finger to his mouth, he motioned for me to stay silent.

"Brian?" The word came out a question as I watched Trevor undress before me.

"I'm here, Justin. Feeling you in me. So good. Can you feel it? You're fucking me and I'm jerking myself off right now." Trevor was naked and hard. He crawled up from the bottom of the bed and stopped at my feet. He knelt there, bent forward, and reached for the hand that I was stroking my dick with.

"Fuck, Brian," I closed my eyes and gripped my dick hard trying to resist Trevor’s touch. "You're so tight," I moaned. Trevor looped his fingers under my forearm and urged me to kneel also. Once he had me in position, he bent down and licked the head of my dick.

"Tight and wet," I murmured, letting go of the hold I had on myself and winding my fingers in his hair.

"Fuck me. Fuck me hard, Justin. Hard and fast."

"I am, I am," I was face-fucking Trevor with a vengeance, and he was taking me in up to my balls.

"Yeah, that's it. It's not gonna be long now." Trevor had lubed two of his fingers and he was reaching between my thighs. My balls were tight up against my body as he rubbed the silky fluid just behind them.

"I'm not gonna last. I wanna stop, Brian, but I can't...I can't." I dropped my head shamefully as Trevor's fingers found my hole.

"Don't stop, Justin. I'm coming. Fuck. Fuck." He let out an animalistic groan as Trevor found my prostate.

"Oh my God," I yelped. I could hear Brian breathing heavily in my ear.

"Go ahead Justin, come now, I want to hear you."

Pleasure was coursing through me in waves. "I will...I will....," I replied. "I want you here, Brian." Trevor's fingers were fully extended inside of me one second and pulled out to the tips the next. He jammed them back in, and I was there. Pulsing around his fingers and shooting down his throat. "I'm coming. Brian…I'm sor..." He cut me off.

"That's it, just ride it. Fuck, Justin…that was hot.”

"Oh God," it came out as a sob. "Fuck."

I was quiet for a moment and then he broke the silence. "Sounds like you had a good time over there too, Sunshine."

"Brian..." Trevor had gone into the bathroom and I suspected he was taking care of his own needs in there.

I must have sounded desperate, because Brian rescued me again before I said something stupid. "Just hurry up and get your ass home."

"I miss you."

"Miss you too. Later."

I curled up in a ball and stayed that way. The next morning I woke up to a raging headache and an empty penthouse. I showered, grabbed my shit and was out of there by 8:45. I had a 10:30 flight, and I spent the entire time trying to justify to myself what I had done the night before.

Brian Kinney, of all people, had abstained from having sex with anyone but himself for six months on the chance that we MIGHT get back together. Here we are, engaged, and I couldn't hold out for one fucking night. Yes, Trevor had been insistent and yes, I had been drunk, but I knew what I was doing and I wanted it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Brian was waiting at the airport looking incredibly sexy in his work clothes. I felt like a dog. My head was still pounding, and I felt like I was going to hurl. I forced a smile but he saw right through it. We embraced and kissed but there was no intensity to it.

He tucked me under one arm and whispered in my ear, "That sure didn't feel like someone who couldn't wait to get home last night to fuck me."

"Sorry. I feel like you did yesterday."

"Ah, too much partying, huh?"

I just hung my head and shook it. Slowly.

"I'll drop you at home, and you can sleep it off while I'm at work."

"I think you should take me to my mom's, Brian."

"Oh yeah, hanging out with your mother should do wonder's for your hangover. It's your choice, Sunshine. Your mom's or a nice, quiet, dark loft."

"Okay, take me to the loft," I said as we got into the 'Vette. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the passenger seat window for the duration of the ride while Brian rested his right hand on my thigh, making small comforting circles with his fingers.

When he pulled up in front of our building, I leaned across the seat to kiss him. "Don't come up right now, okay? I'd prefer to be miserable all by myself."

"Wasn't planning on it. There's plenty of water in the refrigerator. Don't get dehydrated."

I nodded and grabbed my bag, "Later."

********************************************************************************  
“Justin…Justin, wake up.” Brian was kneeling down, nudging me from the makeshift bed I had made on the bathroom floor. “Why aren’t you in the bedroom?”

“Well, after about the seventh trip I made in here I decided it would be wise to just bring a pillow and blanket in.” I stood up, stretched, and looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. “I still look like hell but I feel a lot better. What time is it?”

“Six-thirty. I called about three hours ago but you must have been passed out.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me three hours ago,” I assured him. “I need to brush my teeth.”

Brian went into the bedroom to change while I brushed. When I entered, he was sitting on the foot of the bed in jeans and a black wife beater. He turned his head and looked up at me without a word.

“We need to talk,” I paused. If there was one thing I figured out on the plane, it was that I couldn’t enter into a marriage trying to cover up Wednesday night. We had come too far for that. Brian was still staring at me, but now his mouth was slightly open.

“Then talk, Justin. But, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I fucked up…last night,” I lowered my head. I couldn’t bring myself to see the disappointment I was now going to put on his face. “I let Trevor blow me.”

There was dead silence for a moment until Brian shattered it with, “And?”

I raised my head and looked at him in confusion. “And what?”

Brian turned his hands over, palms up and asked, “So what happened after Trevor blew you?”

“Nothing. I fell asleep.”

At this, Brian started to chuckle. Then his chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. He fell back onto the bed and ran his fingers through his hair as I stood in dumbfounded amazement. “That’s what’s been bothering you since you stepped off the plane?”

“No, that’s what’s been bothering me since I came in his mouth. Brian, I’m so sorry. I feel terrible for having done this to you…to us…after everything you did.”

“Oh Justin, just stop. You didn’t do anything to me and anything I did was because I chose to. I don’t deserve any fucking medals. You’re 26, for Christ sake, and you’ve probably been with about 40 guys in your life. You could get blown by a different man every night of the week for the next five years, and we might be able to draw some comparisons. So you went out with friends, got drunk and let one of them blow you. So what.”

“But we’re engaged, Brian, and I didn’t use a condom.”

“Oh fuck,” he was still chuckling. “First of all, we’ve never made any rules about monogamy. I know it’s my bed you’re going to be sleeping in every night. If you stop now and then to get a blow job on the way home, I’m not going to get all bent out of shape. This isn’t going to be your parents or any other happy or un-happy hetero marriage we are entering into, Justin. Secondly, I’m sure your little movie star is negative but even if he isn’t, do you know what a minute chance you have of contracting anything from a blow job?”

“Yeah, but I still feel like shit about it. I want to be faithful to you, Brian.”

“And I want a functioning left nut. Sometimes shit happens, Justin. Don’t beat yourself up about it. And for God’s sake, don’t scare me like that again.”

I have never loved him more than I did that instant.

Fuck. It’s 12:25 and the phone is ringing. Gotta go.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Tuesday, July 31st, 2007

I had a hard time getting out of the office yesterday (surprise, surprise!), so I went straight to the airport while Justin came from home, with our luggage, in the car I hired. As a result, he beat me to the JetNetwork reception area by about 15 minutes. He was waiting near the security check, where I could see him as I walked through the double glass doors into the terminal. He had an expression on his face that nicely mixed perplexity with I-told-you-so, relief, and I-won’t-say-a-word. I could see Justin’s mouth starting to open, so I quickly tipped his head up and kissed him. I said, “Has our luggage already been checked in?”

“Yes, I let them…but I don’t understand what’s going on here, Brian.”

“We’re flying JetNetwork.”

“So the nice man said.” He gestured at a smiling attendant standing next to the metal detector. “Jose explained that we’re flying to Awng-gwilla.” He dropped his voice so that I had to lean closer to hear him. “Where the fuck is Awng-gwilla? I didn’t want to ask and look totally stupid.”

“Anguilla is a very small island east of the Virgin Islands, a little bit north of Antigua…in the Caribbean, in other words. Very shortly we are going to be on a light jet, with four other passengers, winging our way through the sky to, first, San Juan, Puerto Rico, then to Anguilla.”

As I talked, Jose was taking us through the security process. He did all the security checks we would have experienced had we flown, say, Liberty Air, but with a pleasant and accommodating air. “Am I the last to arrive?” I asked.

“No, sir. Mr. Watkins and Ms. Ames are on their way. We should be in the air in less than an hour. You can board now.”

We walked out through a small but posh waiting room, through another pair of glass doors, and down a red-painted walkway to a Learjet. An attendant named Tyrell met us as we went through the doors, gave us an appreciative once-over, and took my briefcase and Justin’s messenger bag. Once in the plane, he said, “Seats 5 and 6.” Two Latino businessmen, dressed in designer suits, dress shirts, and ties, occupied seats 1 and 2. I returned their nods, waved Justin into Seat 5, and took Seat 6. Seats 3 and 4 were empty.

Justin leaned across the aisle that divided the plane and whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I told you, we’re flying to a tiny Caribbean island.”

“Got that part. But… “ He waved his hand at the leather seats, the teak woodwork, the general air of luxury.

“I’ve been a JetNetwork member for almost a year,” I said. “Most of my trips are a business expense, so Ted is quite happy with the arrangement. This trip will be a personal expense, but you’ll be happy to know that for most of it, we’re flying as Empty Leg passengers. JetNetwork only had four full fare passengers flying from Pittsburgh to San Juan, Puerto Rico, so the two of us get a reduced rate for most of the trip.” That ‘reduced’ rate was a hefty $6,000 plus for each of us, but that wasn’t Justin’s problem. “We’ll have the plane to ourselves for the hour flight from San Juan to Anguilla.” I leered at him. If I’d had a moustache, I’d have twirled it.

He gave me a perfunctory smile. “I know I’m not supposed to worry about the expense, but…if I’m not going to feel like your kept boy…Brian, I just can’t turn the worrying off.” He looked at me earnestly.

Fuck. Obviously my spendthrift ways were a serious matter. Looking back, I realized I’d made a mistake in not asking Ted to walk him through my finances, including the cash that Kinnetik was throwing off and the unexpected profitability of Babylon. In the meantime, there was no point in confessing how fucking much our flight to Anguilla was costing me and that the return trip, if we didn’t catch an Empty Leg flight, might cost significantly more.

I looked at him in exasperation. “If we flew commercial, our trip, with layovers, would take….” I paused for dramatic effect, “TWENTY-TWO hours. Can you see me traveling anywhere for 22 hours straight, when there’s an alternative?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t. Of course not.

“Okay. So relax. And when we get home, I’ll have Ted fill you in on our finances.”

“All right. So how long is this going to take?”

“About seven hours to San Juan, then we layover there for about an hour. The trip from San Juan to Anguilla takes another hour.”

There was a flurry of activity as Mr. Watkins and Ms. Ames came aboard. They were mid-thirties types, both dressed in shorts and T-shirts and carrying laptops. Bits of overheard conversation made it clear that they were traveling on business.

We were in the sky within twenty minutes of their arrival. Since I’d traveled this way before, I’d brought my laptop. This was definitely not going to be a working vacation, but I could see no reason why I shouldn’t spend some part of the trip cleaning up my e-mail. I’m always saying I’ll go through and delete, file, or answer every damn message, but of course I never do.

I looked across the aisle at Justin. He had settled in, his personal monitor pulled out from the wall, his headphones on, and his sketchbook and pencils on the pull-out table. He had started sketching Ms. Ames who had been blessed with one of those faces often described as ‘interesting.’ He looked content. I smiled to myself. Perhaps good sex doesn’t solve every problem, but apparently fucking him into the mattress Friday night, blowing him in the shower Saturday morning, post-wedding sex Saturday night, more mattress pounding Sunday morning, and jumping his bones on the couch on Sunday afternoon had convinced him I really wasn’t upset by his adventure with Trevor.

If that was the worst thing he ever did…or I ever did, for that matter…I knew we’d survive it handily. No one can foresee the future and the hurdles life will put in their path, but right now I was fairly optimistic about our chances. Optimistic! What the fuck, Kinney? Getting sentimental in your old age? Back to work.

Just then, the attendant asked for our drink order, and I settled down to work on my e-mail. Later, about three hours into our flight, we were served appetizers, followed by our choice of salads, sandwiches, a hot casserole, or a combination of the three. I leaned across the aisle to Justin and murmured, “Eat up. You’re going to need your strength later.”

He smiled a wicked smile and said softly, “You might want to eat something more substantial than that salad if you want to keep up with me, old man.”

“I’ll remember that ‘old man’ business later, when we have less company.”

“I’m scared to death.”

I just grinned at him, as evilly as possible. Conversation was becoming general anyway, so we dropped our private banter.

Once we landed, we waited for about 45 minutes in JetNetwork’s private lounge while the other four disembarked and the plane was refueled, then we were back in the air, flying through the fading light on the final leg of our trip.

As we boarded, I motioned Justin toward the fourth pair of seats. The pair at the rear of the plane were not, in fact, a pair but a bench. Before I followed him, I put a hand on Tyrell’s arm and said, “Justin and I will not be needing anything during this flight.”

Tyrell gave me a knowing look and said, “It’s a very small plane.”

I said, “It is, isn’t it?”

He said, with a sigh, “I’ve spent an hour or so reading in the bathroom before.”

I smiled. “I hope you brought an interesting book, but as far as we’re concerned, you don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for our privacy,” and I joined Justin in the rear of the plane.

Justin whispered, “Tyrell was cruising you.”

“How do you know it isn’t your ass he has the hots for?”

“He’s good-looking.”

“I noticed.” I wasn’t interested in Tyrell, good-looking or not. I hadn’t had my hands on Justin since 6:00 a.m., so I was experiencing some serious withdrawal. I sat sideways on the rear seat, my back to the wall and one leg stretched out along the back of the bench, the other on the floor. Justin didn’t need a written invitation. He pulled his T-shirt off and sat down between my legs. I ran my hands over his smooth torso and nipped at an ear.

As soon as the plane was airborne, I heard Tyrell rustling around in the galley. When he came out, he brought us two glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine. “I’m afraid it’s not champagne,” he said, “but it’s a nice light wine. I think you’ll find it enjoyable.”

Justin beamed at him and said, “Thank you so much.”

He poured us each a glass and set the bottle and the glasses down on the pull-down table. One of my hands was still curled around Justin’s mid-section, stroking his lean belly. I picked up my glass with the other. “Very nice, “ I said.

Tyrell could tell he was unneeded, so he just smiled, turned around, and sat down on his jump seat opposite the galley.

Justin turned a little, raising his glass, and said, “Here’s to a wonderful honeymoon.”

We touched glasses. “An auspicious start to what I hope is a long journey and a good one,” I said, and I wasn’t talking about the honeymoon. I finished off my glass and put it down on the table.

I wrapped both my arms around him and moved my hands slowly and gently up and down his torso. I buried my nose in the crook of his neck and sniffed his familiar and provocative scent. Perhaps because he had last showered early this morning, he smelt slightly more pungent than usual, his Justin-smell over-riding the light cologne he uses.

Justin relaxed back into my chest with a sigh as I moved the foot I had on the floor up onto the couch so that I could wrap my legs around his. We both sagged down a little, so that we were closer to horizontal. I undid the button at the waist of his pants and ran my hand down inside, smoothing down toward his pubes but not touching his cock. He wriggled provocatively, causing my jeans to rub my cock.

I nipped his neck and said, “Watch it. You wouldn’t want to get an old man like me too excited.” He wriggled more vigorously. I continued, “And keep it quiet. We don’t want to disturb Tyrell or distract the pilots.” Distracting the pilots was unlikely; the cockpit was closed off from the cabin by a pocket door. Tyrell, on the other hand, was probably looking forward to being disturbed.

I pushed Justin away a little and moved my hand down the back of his pants. “I’m slowing this down…after all, at my age, we can’t go too fast.” I ran a finger down his crack and pressed it against his asshole. I brought my mouth close to his ear and said softly, “That’s where this is going, you know. You do know, don’t you?”

He nodded, arched his ass off the couch, and pushed his slacks and briefs down.

I sucked on his ear lobe and felt him shudder. I ran my hands around, over his hipbones, and down, so that they formed a vee that framed his cock without touching it. “Get those pants all the way off,” I said and sucked on his ear.

His shoes had long since hit the floor. Now his pants followed them. I glanced toward the galley where Tyrell was still ostensibly reading his book. I thought I saw him turn his head back to his book when I looked his way. I smiled to myself and slid my hand over Justin’s cock. Hot and hardening against my hand. He gasped, and I covered his mouth with my hand. “Quiet,” I hissed. He nodded, and I removed my hand.

I put my hands on the warm skin of his waist and twisted him. He understood immediately what I wanted and turned to face me, knees on either side of my hips, sitting back on my thighs. I reached up and guided his head down to mine. We kissed. When he pulled away, I smiled at him and said, “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

“Like this?” he whispered and unsnapped the top snap on my jeans.

“Exactly like that,” I said.

He ripped the rest of the snaps apart, hooked his fingers through my belt loops, and pulled my jeans down to my thighs as I raised my hips. I looked down at my rigid cock as he bent to kiss it, one of his hands over my mouth. I groaned into his palm and scooted down the little bit further I could. The fucking couch was not even four feet long, so there was about two feet extra of me. “Ride me,” I whispered.

He pushed up to his knees, then paused and grabbed the hem of my shirt. I nodded and sat up as straight as possible. Between the two of us we got the damn thing off. I slumped back down again and watched him get down to business, lubing my cock, then lining it up with his hole. He had that expression I love on his face, part lust, part serious concentration. His head was tilted forward so that he could see what he was doing, and his mouth was a little open as what he was looking at turned him on even more.

I pushed up toward him. This was taking too damn long. I was more than ready.

He looked up. “Hold still, damn it,” he hissed.

“Will you…for God’s sake….hurry!” I spat on my hand, wrapped it around his stiff penis, and slid it from his balls to his cap, once.

“Brian!” I slapped my other hand across his mouth again. He pushed it away and moaned, “Don’t do that yet. You’re making everything harder.”

“I thought that was the point.” I raised an eyebrow.

He looked exasperated. Apparently this was not a good time for word play. I groaned and slumped back against the wall again. I fought my body, trying to keep it still. I wanted to be inside him now, not lying passively while he coped with the mechanics of the thing. He grasped my lubed dick in his warm hand again and adjusted his body, then once again failed to hit his target.

“Justin,” I hissed, “what the fuck is going on?” Or rather, not going in.

“It’s a funny angle….”

“Then MOVE and I’ll ride YOU.”

“Un-uh…I’m not giving up…yet…THERE!” Not only had he gotten everything lined up correctly, but he had pushed down hard. I was in half way up my shaft. I gasped, and he went very still. That had to have hurt.

I soothed him with my hands, running them up and down his back, as I muttered nonsense phrases to him. I needed to bend my knees a little more, constricted though they were by my jeans; I did so gingerly. He gasped as my change in position pushed my dick in further, then he pushed back and tightened around me. It was my turn to gasp.

Then he started to truly ride me, rising above me as he pulled dangerously far off, then slowly pushing down again. I lubed my palm and stroked him in the same rhythm, watching him as he got closer and closer to the edge. He was flushed red from his chest to his hairline, and he was slick with sweat. I leaned up fractionally on his next down stroke and licked the sweat from his neck in a long swipe. He shuddered and pulsed in my hand, his come trapped between our bodies.

I grabbed his hipbones, hard, and held him still while I shot into him. He lurched forward and covered my mouth with his just in time to muffle my yell. He collapsed onto my chest, and we lay there, panting and listening to our hearts thud.

Finally he put his hand behind my head and tilted my head toward his. “I’m going to sacrifice my briefs to clean us up.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” I said. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

“Someone’s in there,” he said. “I think it’s Tyrell. He probably has to clean up too.” Justin giggled.

I was sure Justin was right. “We have that effect on people,” I said. I pulled my jeans up around my waist and walked over to the bathroom.

The door slid open and Tyrell came out, neat as a pin. “I hope you gentlemen are enjoying your flight,” he said. “If there’s anything you need….”

I rolled my lips over my teeth. “We’re fine,” I said. Probably not what Tyrell wanted to hear.

When I came out, Justin was dressed - his briefs nowhere in sight - and curled up on the seat. He sat up so that I could lie against the back of the seat with my legs wound over and around his body. When we were done shifting around to get comfortable, he said, “Pretty good for an old man.”

I smiled into his hair. “Damn good for any age.”

He yawned. “True. Guess I’m a member of the Mile High club now.”

And that was our flight from San Juan to The Valley on Anguilla.

Oh yes, one more thing. When we went to exit the plane, I tipped Tyrell $50.00. He pressed it back into my hand. “That’s not necessary, sir. It’s been a pleasure.”

I’m sure. I left his tip in an envelope at the registration counter anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

The Anguillan airport is in The Valley, which is certainly a valley but is also the name of Anguilla’s largest settlement. It can’t be very large, however, because we saw very few lights glittering on the ground as we dropped out of the night sky. Never mind if The Valley wasn’t Tokyo or Berlin – I was just glad we were done with flying, at least for today. I fly too fucking frequently to be thrilled by it or even to like it much.

The Villas at Temenos sent a car to the Wallblake Airport for us, an elderly Rolls Royce, driven by a middle-aged West Indian gentleman. Our driver…he calls himself our ‘butler’…introduced himself as Calvin Hodge (“not one of them banking Hodges”). Mr. Hodge pointed out a few landmarks as we passed them, but mostly we crept along twisting roads in the disorienting dark. Mr. Hodge said that The Villas are about four miles from Wallblake Airport. If true, I am happy to report that it only took us an amazing 20 minutes to cover the distance. I can see that I’m going to have to work at relaxing, or else the slow pace here will drive me nuts.

Finally Mr. Hodge announced that we were turning off the main road and would be at the Villas in a matter of minutes. There are five, he told us: Sea, Sand, Sky, Surf, and Sun. Each villa has a color scheme in keeping with its name. Sun Villa, for instance, is furnished in yellows, oranges, and reds, according to Mr. Hodge, and is, he says, “very stimulating.” I’m sure. Fortunately, we are in Surf which, with Sun Villa, is one of the two smaller villas, with only two bedrooms. “Which is one more than we’ll need,” Justin whispered.

The color scheme for Surf Villa is primarily shades of white with dashes of blue, green, and aqua. Not a scheme I’d want to live with everyday, but fine for a vacation. Mr. Hodge escorted us into the villa’s main room, with its white tile floor, off-white chairs and couch, colorful throw pillows, and – taking up at least a quarter of the room – an entertainment area with wide screen plasma TV, DVD, CD and stereo equipment. Justin ooh’d and aah’d as Mr. Hodge demonstrated how everything worked. Meanwhile I was cataloging the fuckable surfaces and coming up with a satisfactory count.

The architect had made use of a lot of floor-to-ceiling glass. The dining area’s view looked out over the ‘infinity horizon’ pool to what Mr. Hodge assured us was the blue of the Caribbean. If you preferred not to have a sheet of perfectly clear plate glass between you and your view, you could step out on the roofed deck next to the dining area and eat there. Or, rather, dine there. I’m fucking sure nobody just eats at the Villas.

The bedroom next to the main room also had what was essentially a plate glass wall, again over-looking the infinity pool – damn thing must be 30 feet long and about 12 feet wide, with a Jacuzzi at the bedroom end – as did the bathroom next to it. However, in the case of the bathroom, a privacy wall blocked the bathroom from the view of passers-by.

Justin loved it. “It’s almost like being outdoors,” he said. “Hell, half of it IS outdoors, and it has its own little courtyard.”

“With its own little outdoor shower so you don’t track sand in,” I said.

He elbowed me. “Stop being so cynical.”

The second bedroom was up a flight of stairs. It had its own equally luxurious bath and a deck as large as the first floor bedroom. Besides the stairs in the main room, Mr. Hodge said there were exterior stairs “for complete privacy.’ Justin and I exchanged a glance. We wouldn’t be using the privacy feature.

Finally there was what looked to me like a professional kitchen. “Cook much?” I asked Justin. He didn’t answer. He was busy surveying the contents of the refrigerator and cabinets. My guava juice was in the refrigerator, his Cap’n Crunch was in the cabinet, and there was a Braun coffee maker on the counter with Kona coffee beans in a container next to it. We were set for the next 12 days.

While we waited for our luggage to arrive, Justin wandered over to the entertainment center and started rummaging through the DVDs and the CDs. “There’s a listing here of all the DVDs and CDs they have. Mr. Hodge said just to call him, and he’d have whatever we want sent over. Oh my god!”

“What?”

“Broken Social Scene. There’s a Broken Social Scene CD here. I can’t believe it.” He punched on the CD player. “C’mon, we’ll dance.”

“I can’t dance to Broken Social Scene. Broken Social Scene is for getting stoned to.”

“’Stars and Sons.’ You can dance to ‘Stars and Sons.’ We spent the whole day on our butts. Let’s move a little.”

“On our butts…and in them,” I muttered.

“I’m pretending not to hear that,” he said as 'Stars and Sons” boomed out of the CD player.

I winced. “We might as well be in Babylon.” I thought for a moment. “In fact, they can probably hear that in Babylon.”

Justin boogied across the room to me, doing this strange move he does with his abdomen. Quite beyond me, but then I do my best dancing naked and hard, and I’m not getting complaints about my technique. He stopped in front of me, still rippling, and pulled his shirt off. He ran his hands up under my shirt and said, “Too many fucking clothes.”

I said, “Wanna see my tits, huh?” and I pulled my shirt off, too.

He went up on his toes, put his arms around my neck, and ground against me. “Don’t stop there,” he said. So I didn’t. I unsnapped my jeans and started pushing them down. Still gyrating, Justin stepped far enough away to allow me work my jeans the rest of the way off. Then he was back, plastered up against me, his pants rubbing up against the sensitive skin of my dick.

“Mr. Kinney? Mr. Taylor?” What the fuck? Then I recognized the voice. “It’s Hodge with the fucking luggage,” I said to Justin. “I’ll get it.”

You enter Surf Villa from a gated courtyard on the landward side. Mr. Hodge had the door open, but hadn’t walked into the room. He was carefully not looking at either of us. “I knocked and rang, sirs,” he said, “but you were not answering.”

I turned and said, “Justin, turn off the CD, will you?” but he was already moving toward the entertainment center. I just love telling people to do something they have already started doing. I wiggled my finger at him and said, soto voce, “Get me $50, would ya? My wallet is in my jeans.” I turned to Mr. Hodge who was still not looking at either of us. “Would you put our bags in the bedroom?”

One thing about answering the door nude: it gets you fast service. I suspect that Mr. Hodge set a land speed record for the time it took him to get the three pieces of luggage from the courtyard to the bedroom. His embarrassment was somewhat abated by my generous tip. I find that a big tip at the beginning of a stay results in more willing service for the rest of the time.

As soon as the door shut, Justin had the CD player blasting away again, then his arms were back around my neck, and his hips were grinding against mine. He pulled my head down and kissed me, open-mouthed and messy. (“Lovers Spit,” indeed.) I could feel myself reviving. I grabbed his ass and, bending slightly at the knee, brought our bodies into even closer alignment. We kept moving right through the whole track, his clothing brushing up against my dick as he moved. Damn, I was getting hard.

I was watching Justin’s face as we rubbed together. He was flushed and his eyes were starting to droop. Un-huh. I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and he stepped out of them. (No sign of his briefs. Wonder what he did with them?) He went up on his tiptoes and hooked one leg around me, as high as he could reach. I grabbed his other thigh and gave him a boost, so that he could wrap both legs around my hips. I staggered as I took his weight – there isn’t an extra ounce on him, but the necessary ounces add up to a significant fraction of my own weight – but kept my balance. I took a moment to consider the drawbacks of tile floors: dropping to the ground to continue our activities was not an option. The bedroom: I wanted to roll around on the big bed.

I wrapped my arms around his torso as Justin squirmed, lining up our cocks. My breath hitched as he got himself into position and tightened his legs around my body. Sometimes our dicks just touched as I maneuvered my way toward the bedroom, sometimes they rubbed, sometimes they lost contact altogether. “Fuck,” I said, “cut me a break, Justin. Ease up a little. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, and I don’t want to kill us both.”

His answer was to kiss that sensitive spot under my ear. This time I gasped and picked up my pace. The hell with safety. The only way I was going to survive this was to get to the bed as quickly as possible, before he brought me to my knees on the gleaming tile. As soon as we got to the bed, I half-dropped him, then half-fell on to him.

“Lube,” he whispered in my ear.

“What?” I pulled back, looking at his flushed face.

“We’re gonna need lube. There’s some in my messenger bag.” He flung his arm out to his side and pointed to the bag in the corner. I backed off the bed, grabbed it and tossed the bottle to him.

“Anything else before I fuck you into that mattress, Princess?” I asked as I climbed back over him.

“Oh no," he chuckled shaking his head, "on your back." Apparently he was the one calling the shots tonight, and as long as it resulted in my orgasm I wasn’t about to argue.

I rolled onto my back and he mounted me, straddling my hips and grasping our dicks in one spit-wetted hand. He nestled back lightly onto my thighs and let his balls fall atop mine. Grabbing the lube he held it high and drizzled the slippery substance over both of us. I watched as a clear ribbon of liquid laced across the heads of our cocks and then dripped down their sides to his waiting hand. Justin looked down at his dick and mine and said, “Hot!” He licked his lips. I groaned and arched into his hand.

Sliding his right hand up, he spread the lube evenly around, between, and under our cocks. His left was tucked through the small triangular space formed at the juncture of our legs. Capturing the lube that had worked its way down along the side of my balls, he snaked a finger into my crack while his thumb ran along my perineum. All systems go; he coordinated the action in both of his hands.

Then he began humping me, thrusting his hips forward while his hand continued to lock our glistening dicks together. The head of his appeared and disappeared through his fist, massaging the engorged vein on the underside of mine. Frottage is sometimes dissed as juvenile, and maybe it is when the underage set indulges, but this was no inexperienced junior high school kid. This was Justin. My Justin.

I arched up into his hand as strongly as I could. More contact, more friction, a finger strategically bumping at my asshole and then pressing in, a familiar tightening that ran down my spine, and my balls drew up.

"Brian…" He was still able to speak while I was quickly losing the ability. He leaned forward, angling our cocks down. I opened my eyes and stared back into his. A wide toothy smile broke out on his face. "Like this?" he asked. I could do little except groan in appreciation. Another hard push against his cock and I was coming, splattering our chests, my chin. A few seconds later, Justin went rigid, and then came with a body-shaking shudder.

He collapsed on top of me, and we lay still, our panting the only motion as we tried to get our breath back. He rolled his head on my shoulder and said, sleepily, “Good thing they turned the bed down. We’d have made a mess of the comforter.”

“It’s our honeymoon. We’re allowed to make a mess, as long as it’s a sexy mess.”

“Oh. That’s the rule?”

“Yep.”

“I can work with that.”

I nodded. I was slipping into sleep, too far gone to have a snappy comeback. I rolled over on to my side, holding him in place with one arm. “Night,” I said and slept.  



	7. Chapter 7

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

**Wednesday, August 1, 2007**

****The second thing Justin did yesterday – you can guess what the first one was - was dive in at one end of our private pool and swim a couple of laps. I stretched out, nude, on a chair next the pool and watched his clean, powerful freestyle. Zap! The Country Club strikes again.

He bobbed up at the side, “C’mon,” he said. “It’s refreshing.”

I can’t swim. I played varsity soccer at Penn State, I bowl better than my father ever did, I can more than hold my own at handball, I am naturally athletic, but I can’t swim. I can’t even float. I tried to learn in college and so frustrated the instructor that he had me weighed on an underwater scale. The result: I had too little body fat to float, much less swim. That’s a good reason, but it still annoys me. I prefer not only to be competent at whatever I do, but to excel. I don’t even approach competent in the water.

I thought briefly about Gus. If we’d brought Gus, I’d have an excuse to go in the pool and not swim. On the other hand, there wasn’t a water slide in sight which might not go over well with the squirt.

“I’m working on my tan,” I said. “Do some more laps…or whatever…then I’ll be ready for breakfast and we can go down to the beach.” I like the ocean. I can walk in the ocean without looking like a complete dork.

So that’s how the day went: Justin swam his laps in the pool while I worked on my all-over tan, we had breakfast on the veranda (the second of the morning for him), and then we put on our Speedos and went down to the beach. There I worked on my two related hobbies: improving my own tan while making sure Justin didn’t burn. He can be careless about reapplying his SPF45 suntan lotion, but I was determined that his ass wasn’t going to be out of commission on our honeymoon due to third degree burns. For dinner we had one of the Villa’s chefs come in and make us dinner: fish grilled on our barbeque with salad and fruit.

**Thursday, August 2, 2007**

Yesterday, after Justin’s morning exercise, we took a taxi into The Valley and rented bicycles. (I can ride a bicycle just fine, as long as I use at least one hand to steer.) We started pedaling toward our villa, with Justin oh-ing and ah-ing over every scenic view we passed. I said, “Let’s get your sketchbook, and I’ll find something to read. We’ll come back and you’ll try to capture what you’re seeing.”

He looked anxious. “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, you’ll be bored.”

I rolled my eyes. “Justin, if I minded, I wouldn’t have made the suggestion, would I?”

So back to Surf Villa we went, he picked up a sketchpad and pastels, and I found a book called, “Business Fraud : Know It & Prevent It,” which turned out to be more interesting than it sounds. (I should really watch out for Theodore. And if he and Cynthia worked together, they’d wipe me out.) Justin loses track of time when he starts working, but eventually his stomach brought him back to his senses. We returned the bikes, took a taxi back to our villa, then had lunch and indulged in some indoor athletics. After a nap, we spent an hour enjoying the sand, sun, and sea, then had dinner at a romantic restaurant on the beach. Idyllic.

**Friday, August 3, 2007**

Thursday was almost a rerun of Wednesday except that after lunch we called a taxi and went snorkeling at Sandy Hill Bay. That’s the editorial ‘we’ in that last sentence. I stayed on the beach and worked on my tan while Justin donned a mask and paddled out into the blue-green sea. I then spent some quality time worrying that he had gone out too far, had been gone too long, needed to renew his suntan lotion, or had gotten disoriented and swum out when he meant to swim in. I decided I’m not a big fan of snorkeling and that relaxing on a tropical island is not the lead pipe cinch it sounds like it should be.

We had dinner at another romantic restaurant on another beach. Idyllic...really... but how much can be said about this sort of thing?

**Saturday, August 4, 2007**

Yesterday Justin swam with the dolphins. I got more experience in looking blasé while struggling not to chew my fingernails down to the quick. On a more positive note, my tan is looking great, and Justin’s hair has bleached almost white.

We had another chef-prepared meal – langostinos in a wine sauce over rice with a salad – then we went for a walk and some fooling around in a deserted cove. Romantic. Idyllic, even.

**Sunday, August 5, 2007**

By yesterday I was getting distinctly tired of water sports, so we taxied into The Valley, strolled around, and bought souvenirs for our near-and-dear. I have a great deal of experience and expertise when it comes to shopping, and I was able to steer Justin away from the schlock and pick up some tasteful ceramics and/or jewelry for Ben and Michael, Ted, Cynthia, and the munchers. When it came to buying for Debbie, Emmett, Gus and JR, I let Justin have free rein. I suspected that schlock was exactly what they would like best.

In the taxi, on the way back to the villa, he slumped down, his head back against the seat, his eyes shut, and said, “Do you want to go out tonight?”

Trying not to sound too excited, I said, “Yes. I want to go out somewhere down and dirty, some place we can knock back a couple of beers while we eat with our fingers and maybe dance a little when we’re done.” I’d had enough of idyllic.

The taxi driver turned in his seat, which might have been scary had he been going more than 15 miles per hour. “You gentlemen want Johnny Boy’s, up Island Harbor way. Plenty of shrimp and conch and ribs there, and dancing tonight, sometime around 9:00, when the boys get there.”

Justin sat up. “Yes!” he said.

“I pick you gentlemen up later?”

“9:00 o’clock?” I asked.

“Yessir,” he said with a wide grin.

Which is how we came to make an entrance at Johnny Boy’s last night.

When we are seated in the little chi-chi restaurants like Milano or Caribe Cove, we may get noticed, but the noticing is very discreet. Eyes slide sideways, murmured conversations take place, heads find reasons to look in our direction. Not at Johnny Boy’s. When the two of us walked in…tall, dark and sexy with blond, blue-eyed and beautiful…the noticing wasn’t discreet at all. Everybody interesting, male and female, started sizing us up immediately. Were we two guys on the prowl, looking for girls? Or were we a couple? And if we were a couple, were we individually or jointly on the hunt anyway? That quick, intense scrutiny went straight to my cock, which twitched appreciatively.

We took our seats at the bar, ordered beers (mine with a whiskey chaser), and a plate of shrimp, all the while looking over the rest of the occupants, both servers and customers. Justin knows exactly how to behave in this situation; we’ve done this before. Neither of us made any gestures or moves that would indicate that we were a couple – no hand on a forearm to get the other’s attention, no leaning our heads together, not much eye contact – in other words, no tell-tale body language. Justin smiled indiscriminately at anyone who made any sort of gesture that indicated interest, while I wore my best show-me-why-I-should-care look.

A little blonde girl slid into the seat next to Justin – they could have been twins separated at birth – and in a matter of minutes they were chattering away like old friends. Justin was telling her about his swim with the dolphins, and she was countering with stories of her scuba lessons.

I felt a body slide into the seat next to me and turned to look into an amazing pair of eyes. They were pansy-brown and huge, and they were surrounded by thick black lashes. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Nigel.”

“Brian,” I said and shook his hand.

We went into the usual introductory conversation…where are you staying? How long have you been here? Where are you from?…while we sized each other up. He looked to be younger than me, older than Justin, with a good body which he was showing off in chino shorts and a tight T-shirt. Besides those extraordinary eyes, he had a thick mop of dark hair and a merry smile which was in evidence almost without interruption. He was one of those people who smile even while they’re talking…very unusual for a Brit.

Finally he said, “Introduce me to your friend?”

I tapped Justin’s arm. “Justin, say Hi to Nigel.”

Justin gave Nigel one of his Sunshine smiles, and I swear the boy blinked at its brilliance. Yeah, this was going to work. “I’m ready to dance,” I said.

Justin said, “Just a minute,” and turned to his right. “It was nice talking to you,” he said, “but Brian wants to dance now. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“I’d love to get together,” she said.

“You have my cell number. Give me a call.”

As we walked toward the stairs, I said, “Leading the poor girl on? That’s unkind.”

Justin smiled happily. “Oh, no. I told her we were on our honeymoon. She’s has a husband and two kids at home. She’s here with a couple of girl friends.”

Trust Justin to find a Daphne-substitute in half an hour in a bar.

The three of us snagged a ring side table next to the dance floor upstairs, ordered a round of drinks or two, and spent some time grinding up against each other, using the excuse that we were dancing to the thumpa-thumpa of the four piece Caribbean band. The dance floor was crowded, the trade winds provided the only air conditioning, and soon all three of us were sweaty and hard. When the band finally took a break, I said to Nigel, “Surf Villa is five minutes away from here…okay, ten at the rate they drive…how about I call for a taxi?”

He smiled (of course). “I have a car.”

Okay, even better.

Turns out nobody drives very fast on the marl roads, especially in the dark, so it was a good ten minutes before I was offering Nigel a drink back at Surf Villa. When we all had a drink in our hand, I stripped off my shirt and unbuttoned my shorts. “I’m for the Jacuzzi,” I said. “Anybody care to join me?” and I pushed down my shorts and briefs. Hot weather makes it so easy to strip for action. I rarely have on more than three pieces of clothing.

Justin was not far behind me, but Nigel was hesitating. He had his shirt off and was holding it in one hand. “Isn’t that…can any of the other villas…could someone see us?” He was not smiling.

I shrugged.

Justin looked a question at me, and I responded with a slight inclination of my head. He turned to Nigel and smiled. “I’ll do it if you will. It’s pretty dark out there…just the light from in here…and what the fuck…suppose someone does get a glimpse of something they didn’t expect to see? Lucky them.” He giggled.

Nigel looked undecided and then slowly started undoing his belt. I watched long enough to make sure he was really getting naked, and then I turned and walked toward the door to the pool. I wondered, not for the first time, how the hell many men Justin had led astray with that air of wholesome naughtiness. When I looked over my shoulder, Nigel was following me, stark naked, I was happy to see. Justin, meanwhile, had gone through the bedroom and turned on some lights so that the area where the hot tub was glowed with a soft golden light.

I held the door for Nigel as Justin came out from the bedroom and bent down to turn on the Jacuzzi. Seeing him with Nigel’s eyes, I was amazed all over again at his beauty. His body, as he bent to twist the dial, was slim but graceful, and his white-gold hair gleamed in the light from the bedroom. I looked at Nigel, and the man was staring at Justin, his mouth slightly open. _Yep, sometimes Justin still has just that affect on me, Nigel._

I walked slowly down the two steps into the hot tub, then took my seat across from the steps. I looked at Nigel as he followed me, sucking in his breath as the hot water rose to his waist. He was an inch or so shorter than I am and muscular…although he didn’t look like he lifted...and, I saw, nicely endowed. He waded across the Jacuzzi and sat down next to me. I ran my hand down his back to his ass. “Very nice, “ I said, and the smile returned to his face.

Nigel ran his hand down my chest and leaned in for a kiss, his hand on my dick. It’s always interesting kissing someone for the first time…how they taste, their technique, whether they are confident or tentative…and it was immediately obvious that Nigel had done this many times before. I ran my tongue along his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to me immediately. I filled his mouth with my tongue, and he let me, his body softening and adapting to mine. I deepened the kiss even further and reached blindly for Justin. My hand made contact with his arm, and I pulled him close. I spread my legs apart, turned him, and positioned him so that he sat between my legs.

Nigel broke our kiss and looked at Justin. Justin glanced at me, in turn, a question on his face, and I dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. “Go on. You make me hot,” I murmured, my lips so close to his ear that I don’t think Nigel heard me. Justin smiled back at me, then he pulled Nigel’s head down to his, and I watched as their lips met, just inches from mine. Justin’s eyes met mine briefly, and I licked my lips. His eyes fell shut then, as he concentrated on their kiss. I was not disappointed: it was hot.

Justin’s position had my dick snug against his crack. He pushed back against me, moving his ass up and down, up and down, rubbing my dick with his ass as his mouth ground against Nigel’s. Jesus, I was getting hard. I had one hand on the back of Nigel’s neck, massaging him as he kissed Justin. With the other I caressed Justin’s dick, making him wriggle, every wriggle creating more friction between his ass and my cock. I stroked down Justin’s shaft once more and cradled his balls for a moment, then I gave him a gentle push to make a little room between our bodies. Justin broke the kiss with Nigel to give a little mew as I slid first one, then two, fingers into his asshole. I scissored my fingers slowly as he arched his back, squirmed, and bore down on my fingers. Hot, so fucking hot. I have to be in him NOW.

I released Nigel so that I could use one hand to guide my dick to its destination, while the other hand, on Justin’s abdomen, lifted him a little and held him in place. Justin was gasping and struggling to help me, standing up a bit to position himself over me. With one hand on my dick and the other on his hip, I pushed him down while I thrust upwards. He braced one hand on the seat and pressed down steadily until I was through the ring of muscle and penetrating him. Now that he was impaled, he could push back more effectively, and a moment later I was well and truly in.

I gasped and reached for Nigel. I wanted his mouth on me. He ran his hand down Justin’s abdomen and wrapped it around Justin’s cock. I covered his hand with mine and said, “Not yet.” I had other plans for Justin’s dick. Nigel choked out, “Okay,” and I turned my head so that he could kiss me. His tongue invaded my mouth and pushed deep as Justin continued to ride my cock. Justin moved gingerly at first, perhaps unsure of his control, but when I wrapped one arm around his torso, he began to move more confidently, taking me deeper, harder.

With my other hand, I stroked Nigel’s muscular back, slid my hand over his ass, and ran a finger down his crack. I felt his body stiffen, and he moved his mouth to my ear. Oh, fuck, his tongue was in my ear, he was sucking my earlobe, his mouth was on my neck, and now I was panting and thrusting into Justin as Justin bore down on me. I grabbed Justin’s hips with both hands, looked at Nigel, and gasped, “Don’t stop, for fuck’s sake.” I held on to Justin for dear life, groaning, and pumped into his ass. Justin was yelling, Nigel was muttering obscenities, and black dots were dancing in front of my eyes as I came like a runaway freight train.

I sagged back against the rim of the pool, wheezing, for a long minute, then slowly pulled out of Justin’s ass. Once out I moved fast. I grabbed Justin by the waist, picked him up, and sat him on the side of the tub. He leaned back on his hands and let his thighs fall apart. His penis looked painfully engorged.

Nigel didn’t need prompting. Turning on the seat, he knelt between Justin’s legs and swallowed his dick, almost to the root. Fuck, that was hot. I tore my eyes away from the sight of Justin’s rigid cock sliding in and out of Nigel’s mouth and looked up at Justin’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his head tilted back, and he looked like he was in pain. I knew better. “Justin,” I hissed, and he looked down and gave me a sly conspiratorial smile. My dick answered his smile with a twitch.

I ran my hand over Nigel’s ass, and he shifted one leg to give me access to his asshole. I inserted my index finger, then the middle finger, and probed for his prostate. His “Fuck!” said on a gasp, told me when I found it. I spread my fingers, stretching him more, and pushed in my ring finger. I tried for his prostate again, and, yes, my fingers remembered the angle correctly. This time he moaned loudly and intensified his attack on Justin’s cock. I matched his movements with my taps on his prostate until Justin stiffened, grabbed Nigel’s head, and shot into his mouth. Nigel spat into the water and backed up toward me until he was practically sitting on my fingers. I wrapped my arm around him to grasp his dick and jerked him off while still pushing my fingers into his asshole. He came seconds later, his head writhing against my chest. Justin was still seated in front of us, enjoying the show.

We lounged in the water for a few more minutes, then curled up on a couch in front of the TV and watched a few epics like, “Boysterous Bikers” and “Bottoms Up.” There was, in addition, some drinking, some smoking, and some fooling around. There was even some conversation.

“You guys do it raw with everybody?” Nigel asked.

“Nah,” Justin said, “only with each other. Neither of us has fucked anyone else for…what, Brian? Ages, anyway.”

And then, much later, as he was leaving, Nigel said, “Here’s my number. Give me a call if you get to London. I can assure you that you both would be very popular in certain quarters there.”

_Hmmm. Interesting thought._


	8. Chapter 8

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Wednesday August 8th, 2007  
  
Brian usually never sleeps on planes but right now, he is out cold. The Dramamine he took before we boarded the Ferry at Blowing Point (no shit) must have kicked in. Yes, we are on a plane, and no, it is not the 11th. Our plans have been altered. The boat took us to San Juan and from there we boarded a commercial airline. Brian originally reserved the Villa for 12 days, and we were scheduled to leave this coming Saturday. That is, until he met Nigel. More on that later.   
  
Up to this point, I would classify the honeymoon as a phenomenal success. A week at the Teminos Villas, alone with Brian, is as close as I am ever going to get to heaven on earth. I saw a man I had never met before, or at least got glimpses of him.   
  
Brian has always been a control freak - no surprise there - but for him to have put this trip together, with such meticulous detail, was beyond the slickest advertising campaign I ever saw come out of Kinnetik. And to think he did this for me. I feel incredibly special, and lucky. He chartered a Lear jet to get us here, for fuck's sake. A Lear jet that came equipped with a fully functioning, extremely hot flight attendant, whom - I might add - Brian showed no interest in what-so-ever. Tyrell made it clear he was available for any and all services Brian might require, and Brian let him know that I'd be the only one providing them.   
  
And the place couldn't have been more perfect. The night we arrived he actually danced with me in our Villa, carried me to bed and let me dictate our lovemaking. Brian Kinney...I know, hard to believe.  
  
Tuesday morning...our first morning there, I woke to the sound of the shower and the smell of coffee. I just lay there, trying to get my brain around where I was for a minute. When reality hit, I couldn't help but smile.   
  
"Mornin,' Sunshine," I heard him say as he exited the bathroom.  
  
"Mmmm. It is a good morning." I responded, looking at his semi-erect cock. "Is that elevator going up or down?"   
  
"Just getting it ready for you." he said as he breezed by, "Wanna hop on?"   
  
He was in the kitchen pouring coffee and getting something together on a tray. Get this; BRIAN brought me breakfast in bed. So okay, it wasn't a COOKED breakfast, but he actually put milk and cereal in a bowl with coffee and juice on the side and brought it to me. In seven years, that has never happened before.   
  
"I could get used to this," I murmured as he set the tray on my lap.   
  
"Don't push your luck," he said with a kiss, and then flopped down with his laptop next to me.   
  
I looked over as he flipped it on, "Work! You're doing work on our honeymoon?" I asked indignantly.   
  
"Eating! You're eating in bed?" he countered.   
  
He had me there. I happily slurped down Capt'n Crunch while he checked stock prices. As I was savoring the last few sips of coffee, he closed up shop and set the computer on his nightstand. I could see some action beginning to take place under the covers so I set my tray aside and turned to him. That would be when he looked at me and asked, "Are you ready for dessert?"   
  
I nodded affirmatively, and Brian turned over. God help me if he ever reads this. His ass for breakfast is the only gift he would ever have to give me for the rest of my life, and there he was, offering himself up in addition to everything else he had already done.  
  
"Really?" I asked tentatively.   
  
"This is an official partnership now," he replied, "go to it."   
  
"A fifty-fifty partnership?" I sheepishly questioned which brought out a hearty laugh from him.   
  
"More like ninety-ten in this area," he joked, and then he got serious, "but yeah...really...I want you in me."   
  
Now who could turn down a request like that? Fuck, Brian has a hot ass. Small, perfectly formed and tan. Tricks have always tended to comment more on his cock, because that’s all they get. The ass is mine. He was laying flat on his stomach; legs spread when I crawled between them and began to massage those two muscular orbs. He hummed in pleasure as I ran my thumbs down into his crack, separating his cheeks gently. I bent over him and licked from the small of his back down, remembering the first time he had done this to me. My tongue paused when it reached his hole, circle...plunge...circle...plunge...circle...plunge. Fresh from the shower he smelled of sandalwood and tasted divine. He was lifting up now, trying to force me deeper inside and I giggled.   
  
"Not funny, fucker." He complained in a breathy whisper.   
  
"Just practicing what you taught me," I replied.   
  
"Then shut up and practice harder."   
  
"God, you are impatient." Holding my mouth close to his anus I spit generously, captured the saliva with my middle finger and slowly worked it past his muscle. His breath hitched as my finger continued along its journey through the soft, warm folds of Brian.   
  
"I love you," I told him, rubbing his back with my left hand as my right continued to work his hole. He was silent. I expect this from him. Brian still does not say the words easily, and that's all right. He prefers to show me, and that's even better.   
  
Two fingers were inside of him by then, and I was able to reach the nightstand where he had strategically placed the lube. I flicked the cap and drizzled some into his crack, lubricating my fingers and his insides with each withdrawal and re-entry.   
  
Brian moaned in pleasure when I hooked my fingers and tapped his prostate. He struggled to push up as my other hand exerted extra pressure between his shoulder blades. As soon as I let up, he was on his elbows, head pressed down into his pillow with his ass in the air.   
  
"Ready?" I asked. He nodded as best as he could from that position. I withdrew my fingers, and instantly I sensed his body tense up. It's a reflex reaction I've seen him exhibit before. It’s apprehension over the pain and anticipation of the pleasure fighting under his smooth supple skin.  
  
"Brian..." I said calmly as I sat back on my heels and rubbed down the backs of his calves, "relax...relax and turn over. I want to see you." Me on top with Brian on his back is the position we probably use the least. I think it's that old control issue once again. If he rides me or is on his knees he doesn't have to surrender as much of it.   
  
Wordlessly he turned and reached for me. I collapsed on his chest as we kissed. A kiss that lingered a bit longer than usual. "Are you sure you are okay with this?" I asked as I pulled away. His eyes were closed, but he mouthed, "Yes." I lubed my dick quickly as he pulled his legs up and I entered him.   
  
"Fuck," he said through gritted teeth, his breath coming in quick, short pants. I withdrew partially and then thrust in again slowly. "You're fighting me, Brian," I told him. "Breathe deep and bear down." He knows this; sometimes I just think he needs to hear it. I stopped for a few seconds until he opened his eyes and nodded. Resuming my actions, my dick could immediately feel he had taken my advice.   
  
But while the physical entry was easier now, I still hadn't cracked the tough psychological barrier. I'm convinced that somewhere inside of that proud, successful man is a boy who was made to feel ashamed of being born with this desire. I am determined to erase that guilt.  
  
"God, Brian, you feel so good."   
  
Silence. After a few more strokes he grasped the backs of my thighs in an attempt to drive. He wanted the action sped up and this was his way of telling me. He wasn't going to win that easily however.  
  
"What is it? Tell me what you want, Brian."  
  
"Faster, Justin." His eyes were closed again. Hearing him say my name, even as a command, at a time like this, is such a turn on. I wanted to comply but I had to know more.   
  
"Why, am I hurting you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Does it feel good?" I angled myself slightly to be certain to hit his prostate.  
  
"Oh fuck...yes."  
  
"Then enjoy it. Enjoy it as much as I do when you are doing this to me. I'm making love to you, Brian. Let me."  
  
He opened his eyes and met mine. I continued, "It goes both ways, you know, and there's nothing wrong with taking for a change."  
  
He blinked and swallowed hard. "Love you," he said. I smiled and began to pick up the pace. Brian moaned in appreciation and turned his head to the side. "Shit, Justin...Jesus Christ!"  
  
Faster still, I was ramming him hard. His cock was dripping, and he was getting close. I licked my palm and grabbed it as his fingers dug deeper into my thighs.   
  
"Come for me, Brian...look at me and come for me."   
  
He turned back to meet my gaze seconds before his body was wracked with waves of ecstasy. His face contorted as he shot milky ropes of semen that pooled on his chest. The vision undid me. Any shred of control or dignity I had hoped to maintain was gone. I moaned like a wounded animal as I climaxed. "Fuck...fuck." I dropped my head and attempted to catch my breath.   
  
I backed up slowly so he could gingerly lower and stretch his legs. When I looked up, he was smiling and motioning for me with his outstretched arms.   
  
"Come here," he wiggled his fingers.   
  
I folded back on to his chest, spreading the thick, slippery, cum between us. "Thank you," I whispered.   
  
"You don't have to thank me for what's yours," he replied.   
  
I hugged him, and he answered with a tight squeeze and a little chuckle, "I think I need another shower and so do you."   
  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Brian continued to give in all sorts of sexual and non-sexual ways through out the week. That's why, when he suggested we leave a few days early and take a detour on our way home, I couldn't argue. I felt I owed him so much.   
  
It was probably about Friday when I noticed the restlessness setting in. While I would have been content to continue our private, decadent lifestyle for months, my big city boy had just about had his fill of tropical paradise, and, I feared, me. Not that I doubted his love anymore, I just recognized his old need for variety. He was beginning to reach for his laptop more and more often and chat up any local who expressed an interest in conversation. I noticed the eyes that had been directed only my way for the past five or six days were sizing up the competition whenever it came into view.   
  
On Saturday Brian's boredom was mollified a bit with some shopping in The Valley. While this was a far cry from Hong Kong or Milan, just the act of scouring the local shops for tasteful gifts breathed new life into him. Later that afternoon I asked if he wanted to go out that night and you would have thought he had won the lottery. He excitedly jumped at the chance like a giddy seven year old with the prospect of Disneyland.   
  
When we got back to the Villa, he showered, he paced, he checked his watch, he poured himself a drink, he primped in the mirror, he picked out my evening attire and he paced some more until our driver arrived to take us to a club called Johnny Boy's. It was there that we met Nigel, a friendly, handsome, curly haired Englishman who ended up coming back to the Villa with us and who is now, I suspect, the reason we are flying to England for the next three days.   
  
How do I write this without coming off as a totally selfish, insecure, spoiled brat? I'm not sure I can but I guess that is why this is called MY journal so here goes.   
  
I don't want to go to England. I don't want to share Brian. I don't want to go to bars and have him ask tricks to come home with us without even consulting me. I don't want him to WANT tricks. I want to be enough for him. 

  
There. I said it. I know it's stupid and, as Brian would say, 'lesbianic' but I can't help it. This is Brian fucking Kinney I am married to and we are on our honeymoon, for God’s sake. Are there any rules regarding us and other guys? I wouldn’t know because I have been afraid to ask. I don’t think I would like the answer.   
  
Infidelity does not register on Brian's radar screen. My one night stand with Trevor, which I agonized over, was comical to him. He made it clear that monogamy was going to be an individual choice that either of us could make but not expect to hold the other to. I was smugly relishing the fact that he had saved himself for me for the last six months and secretly…foolishly...hoping that was just the way it was going to be from now on. I think I have to face the fact that he loves me yet he craves other men. 

 I vowed faithfulness. He didn’t.  



	9. Chapter 9

  
Author's notes:

This chapter precedes the Finale which I posted out of order.  This is Brian's version of their evening at Phag. 

* * *

August 10, 2007 - Friday  
  
God, it was great to get back to civilization. An extra day on a plane was a small price to pay for high-rise hotels, bars, smog, and gridlock. Anguilla was a hit with Justin, though, and I don’t regret one minute of it. However, I think twelve nights may have been a little too ambitious a stay even for him. He certainly was agreeable to leaving a few days early to visit London before we go back to the Pitts.   
  
It’s been years since I’ve been here, but talking to Nigel the other night reminded me of some very interesting business trips. London has one of the largest and most diverse gay communities on earth. I was more than ready to take advantage of the unique opportunity of going clubbing with Justin somewhere where we were completely anonymous. A quick peak at my laptop had shown me that my favorite club, Phag, was still in business.   
  
As we walked up the multi-colored steps, I put my lips close to Justin’s ear and said, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with my game?”   
  
He smiled and raised his newly adorned right hand to my cheek. “Brian, I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Relax. It’ll be fun.” Neither Justin nor I are big jewelry wearers, but wearing only a wedding ring could put a damper on tonight’s entertainment. So, inexpensive rings on other fingers served as camouflage for the platinum bands. “Besides,” he continued, “You’ll be there. I’ll get fucked. Why would I be uncomfortable?”   
  
I was still a little dubious. “I’ll tell you what. If at any time you don’t like the way it’s going, just say….” I thought frantically for a word that wouldn’t come up in conversation otherwise. “…Tremont, okay.”  
  
He gave a firm nod. “Tremont,” he repeated.  
  
“Okay,” I told him, “Some details, now that you can see the layout. The main bar is upstairs.” I pointed, and Justin looked up. “However, it overlooks most of this floor, and if you stay on this side of the room, I’ll be able to see you.”  
  
He questioned, “You been here before?”  
  
“It’s been years, but it doesn’t look like much has changed, just the guys have gotten younger. So…you get out on the dance floor, do your sexy thing, and see how many men you can collect.” He nodded. “Remember, if I act like I want you to join me, ignore me. When I really want you, I’ll come get you.”  
  
“I got it.” He was looking around with interest. “I shouldn’t have any problem, cutting out a guy or three in this crowd, but I’m gonna get myself a beer first.” He waved at the first floor bar.  
  
I patted his shoulder and crossed the dance floor to the glass elevator that serviced the bar/mezzanine and the basement bistro. 

  
The mezzanine was U-shaped and open to the dance floor except for a chest-high wall that kept inebriated customers from joining the dancers down below unexpectedly. The bar ran the length of one of the legs of the U. It was made of a rich, polished mahogany, with back lit walls and draft beer spigots behind it. 

  
Across from the bar, butting up to the half wall and overlooking the dance floor, was another mahogany counter where a man - such as me - could both cruise the guys in the bar and keep an eye on the dance floor. I got myself a single malt and grabbed a seat the counter. By the time I had savored a sip or two of my Glenmorangie, Justin appeared from under the mezzanine, his first victim already in tow. As I watched, he turned his head back toward his new partner and no doubt smiled.   
  
God, he is beautiful. Beautiful, intelligent, and both talented and hard working. I experienced one of those moments where I understood what ‘they’ mean when they say, “My heart swelled,” they being the lesbianic.  
  
I watched Justin dance with his new friend, then he danced with a second boy, then all three of them were shaking their booty and attracting even more attention. This was working out just fine. Now I needed to get started on my part in the game.  
  
I looked around the bar, my eyes slowing whenever I saw somebody who looked likely. I wanted somebody older than Justin…maybe 30, maybe even 40 or 45…and attractive. (Attractive goes without saying.)  
  
I turned back to the dance floor and smiled to myself when I felt a body slide onto the stool next to me. I turned and saw that I had caught a lanky, blue-eyed, athletic-looking man with close cropped dark blond hair, nicely graying at the temples.  
  
“Hi,” he said, “my name’s Hugh.”  
  
“Brian,” I said. We shook hands.  
  
We chatted for a few minutes, but while we talked, I made sure Hugh noticed that I was distracted by the activities down on the dance floor. After the third time I stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, Hugh said, “See anybody special down there?”  
  
I said, “Somebody very special. The boy I brought to London with me seems to be having an awfully good time all by himself.”  
  
Hugh looked down. “Which one?”  
  
“See the blond with the red head and the kid with his shirt off?”  
  
Hugh nodded. Justin’s hair looked almost white from here, glowing in the flashing lights. “He had to use the washroom, but I told him to join me here when he was done. Instead….” I let my voice trail off.  
  
Hugh chuckled and ran his hand down my back. “I see,” he said, and I guessed that what he saw was an opening to comfort me for my loss. That wasn’t how this was going to play out, however.  
  
I stood up, leaned over the counter, and waved to Justin. No response. I waited until his head was turned in my direction – he’d been looking my way regularly – and I waved even more vigorously. He gave me a big smile, waved back, and turned his back on me.  
  
“Cheeky chap,” Hugh said.  
  
“Too cheeky by half,” I said. “I’m going to have to go down there and remind him who’s paying his way.” I finished my whisky and started for the elevator. I looked over my shoulder, and Hugh was following me. Good. That saved me the trouble of having to round him up.  
  
Once on the dance floor, I walked up in back of Justin. He turned, caught sight of me and Hugh, and came to a halt. “Hi,” he said with a smile.  
  
I leaned closer and said sarcastically, “Having fun?”  
  
Justin looked from me to Hugh and back uncertainly. He even managed to look a little apprehensive. I thought, God, he’s good.” He said, “Yeah. That O.K. with you?”  
  
I scowled. “Not really. I thought we were supposed to be together?” He looked down at the floor, as though unable to look me in the eye. I said, “I told you to join me in the bar, didn’t I?”  
  
He turned his head to one side and said something.   
  
I said, “What? I didn’t hear that.”  
  
He said, loudly, “I didn’t hear you say anything about meeting you in the fucking bar.”   
  
“Liar,” I said. I grabbed him by the upper arm and said, “C’mon.”  
  
He tried to pull away, I gave his arm a strong jerk, and he followed me toward the elevator. I smiled at Hugh, and he came with us. So, too, did the two boys Justin had recruited. Planning on offering moral – and perhaps physical - support, no doubt. Not that they constituted much of a threat, especially the kid with his shirt off. He was so slender that skinny was a more apt description.  
  
If you turn left when you get off the elevator to the mezzanine, the bar is to your left. To the right of the elevator is a series of inter-connected small rooms that all over-look the dance floor. We turned right when we got off the elevator, and I pulled Justin through a couple of rooms until I found one that was sufficiently empty and dark, only illuminated by the glow and flashings from below.   
  
I moved to the back of the room and said, “I think it’s about time you demonstrated some gratitude for everything I’ve done for you,” and I pushed Justin to his knees. I bent over, put my lips next to his ear, and murmured, “You’re a great little actor.” I could see him start to smile, so I added, urgently, “But stop smiling.”   
  
I straightened up and unbuttoned and unzipped. Justin was now giving me an appropriately big-eyed, worried look and glancing at our audience of three. I leaned back against the wall and pushed down my pants. My little drama had had a predictable effect on my dick: I was hard and already wet.   
  
Justin moved into position and went to work, swallowing so deeply that I bumped up against the back of his throat. God, that feels so fucking good. I opened my eyes and looked at our audience. All three sets of eyes were fixed on my groin and Justin’s head. I got a little harder, if that was even possible.   
  
Justin’s talented mouth worked on my dick, licking, sucking, probing, until I felt myself almost ready to shoot. That wasn’t in my plan. I grabbed him by the hair and jerked him to his feet. Ouch. That jerk was harder than I’d intended. Even in the dim light, I could see the tears start into his eyes. I winced mentally. _I’m in trouble. I’ll hear about THAT later._  
  
“Your turn,” I grated out. “Drop your pants and stick that fucking ass out for me.”  
  
Justin had one hand on his head and his eyes were clearly wet. “Brian,” he whimpered. “Don’t make me.”  
  
I pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “Okay?” and he gave me a tiny, affirmative nod.  
  
Shoving him back, I demanded, “You heard me.”  
  
“But, Brian….” He waved at the three guys, none of whom showed any sign of leaving before the show was over. They effectively formed a shield for our activities.  
  
“Act like a slut, get treated like a slut.” _Oh, that was harsh. I’m going to pay, big time, I know it._  
  
“I can’t believe you said that.” I swear, his eyes filled up again.  
  
 _I can’t, either. It just slipped out._ “I said, bend over.”  
  
This time he turned, pushed his pants down and stuck his ass out. I had already retrieved the lube from my pants’ pocket. I drizzled some down his crack, and used some more to lube my dick and my hand. I braced one hand on the wall over his head, held myself in place, and pushed on in. Once in, I started moving, fucking him hard. I moved the hand I’d freed up to his dick and started pumping vigorously. Leaning over him, I could hear him moan…no distress there…and he was pushing back into my down strokes. No games this time, no trying to delay his orgasm. He came quickly, and I followed him almost as soon as he stopped shuddering.  
  
I pulled two handkerchiefs out of my pants’ pocket and handed one to Justin. We cleaned up and I zipped up. When Justin was finished, he gestured with his handkerchief, embroidered, white-on-white, with my initials. “Is there a trash can around?”  
  
“Sure you don’t want to keep it as a souvenir?”  
  
“NO.” He spotted one near the archway.   
  
Hugh moved into the space Justin had just vacated and asked, “Do you always fuck raw?” His expression combined fascination with trepidation.  
  
“Always,” I said. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“Well, for obvious reasons. Are you sure you’re negative?”  
  
“Of course. And so is he. Why?”  
  
“Let’s just say I’m interested. Very interested.” He leaned in, wrapped his hand around the back of my head, and kissed me, using a lot of tongue. The man knew what he was doing.  
  
As I pulled away, I saw that Justin had gotten rid of my cum-rag and was involved with the two boys while he watched me. I knew that Hugh urgently wanted me in his pants, but I did my best to keep the action above the waist. I opted for talk rather than touching.  
  
“I think I’ve seen enough of this place,” I began.  
  
Hugh said, “I live a short taxi ride from here. I’d love to show you my flat.”  
  
“Both of us?” I asked.  
  
“Not really. I don’t like threesomes…the boy would just be a complication, anyway. Let his little friends entertain him for a couple of hours…or overnight.” He was standing very close to me, one hand stroking my bare arm and working its way up to my face.  
  
The other boys were partially blocking my view of Justin, but I could see enough to know that he had moved a bit closer. Hugh leaned in, “Or take the boy home and slip out after he’s asleep.” He was pressing his card into my palm.   
  
I looked at him and said, “What an…um…enticing invitation, Hugh. _And just how old are you, Hugh?_  
  
“I’m sure it will be worth your while.” He whispered in my ear, “I think you’ll find I need a bit of correction, myself.”  
  
Justin had his back to us and was now fully dressed. He lowered his head for a second and then turned to me. “Gotta use the can,” he said as he breezed by with a smile.   
  
“He seems to be enjoying his new acquaintances,” Hugh remarked. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you? I guarantee you’d enjoy yourself.”  
  
“I’m sure I would,” I reassured him, “but I’m still a little jet-lagged.” _I am never jet-lagged._ “I think it’s time for Justin and me to go back to our hotel and get some…rest.”  
  
I had to admit, it was a tempting offer. If Hugh had included Justin, I might have taken him up on it. The vision of Justin teaching Hugh a lesson was getting me a little hard already. I gave Hugh an opening to change his mind about the situation, saying, “I don’t want to leave Justin alone in a strange city….”  
  
Hugh said, “He’ll be fine, I’m sure.” He pouted. He had a very attractive pout for a man my age. “I really dislike three-ways.”  
  
 _Sorry, Hugh. You just talked your way out of an interesting evening._ Looking over his shoulder, I saw Justin returning. I smiled at Hugh and said, “See ya’.” I gave him a quick peck on the lips and turned to Justin.   
  
“Ready to go?” I asked and he nodded enthusiastically. I anticipated a hot session back in our hotel to cap off a highly satisfactory evening.


	10. Chapter 10

  
Author's notes:   


* * *

Sunday, August 12, 2007  
Pittsburgh  
  
I’m back to writing from mundane Pittsburgh. School starts on the 23rd so I still have a few days to get my shit together. What a summer this has been. Originally, I felt going to London was a bad decision. But arguing over it from the luxury of Anguilla didn’t seem fair or the way I wanted to end my honeymoon. Now I see it as a blessing. It was far better I found out how Brian felt there, rather than make some big scene at home where everyone knows us and our business.  
  
Guess I need to back up a bit. We left San Juan around noon on Wednesday, and after a little more than 13 hours in the air, landed at Heathrow early Thursday morning. At that time, we couldn’t decide whether to sightsee and burn off energy or just sleep. We ended up doing both within the confines of our hotel room, very efficiently.  
  
The room itself, however, was a far cry from Surf Villa. Billed as a Junior Executive Suite, it really wasn't much larger than your typical Holiday Inn. We had a queen size bed, a small sitting area with a table and chairs, wireless internet and a tiny desk off to one side. The view however was splendid. We looked out over the St. Katherine’s Dock area on the North side of the Thames. From what Brian told me, it had been one of the commercial docks serving London until it fell into disrepair many years ago. At one point, it became a crime-ridden, unsanitary slum. But successful urban redevelopment turned it around, and now we overlooked a swanky playground where the rich and famous docked their yachts while they shopped and partied in the stores, restaurants and pubs that rimmed the marina. We woke up around noon on Thursday and spent the better part of the afternoon and evening exploring them ourselves.  
  
I have never been to London before, but Brian spoke well of the city. He has made numerous business trips there over the years and said they had a thriving gay community. I assumed that meant street upon street of gay bars catering to any prurient interest one may have. But it was much more than that. London is welcoming and open minded at any time of the night or day. Back here, outside of our little Liberty Avenue gay ghetto I’ve gotten used to the snickers and sideways glances that still mar my activities when I am accompanied by Brian. The obvious lack of them in London was a welcome relief.   
  
That, along with the fact that he was now on familiar turf, put Brian in an incredibly playful mood. The relief of not having to spend another day in paradise seemed to ooze from his pores. He looked well rested, tanned and hot as hell as we sat across from each other at a quaint little outdoor cafe. The table was small and the checkered cloth adequately camouflaged the leg he had extended onto my chair. His long toes were massaging my crotch as he regaled me with tales of what he imagined was going on in the yachts.   
  
"Stop it," I demanded as I squeezed my thighs together.   
  
"What's the matter, Sunshine, afraid of leaving a nice wet spot on the front of those khaki shorts?"  
  
"It's not funny," I grabbed his foot and forced it to the ground.  
  
"Fine, be a spoil sport. I have better plans for that dick of yours anyway. Wanna play a little game at the club tonight?"  
  
Oh God, here we go, I thought. Brian is nothing if not an exhibitionist. This was a fact that didn’t need discussion. To expect him to contain his skills behind closed doors in our bedroom would be both unrealistic and selfish on my part. It turned out that he had a favorite haunt in this town: a club a few miles away called Phag. And, since he was hungering for an audience, it apparently afforded the perfect setting.   
  
"Whatever," I responded nonchalantly. "This is your time. As long as you're there, and I don't have to fuck or be fucked by anyone else, I'm game."  
  
He smiled and then laid out his plan for our evening's entertainment. It seemed simple and safe enough for me. I don't mind being watched as long as it’s Brian’s dick in my ass.  
  
In his mind, the game started immediately upon my consent. After our meal we hit the shops where he carefully chose our club attire. The weather felt cool to me after Anguilla, but Brian dressed us for summer anyway. He would be wearing off white linen slacks with a Dior shirt, and I got an appropriate twinky t-shirt with gauzy drawstring pants. “Easy entry,” he replied casually as he pulled them off the shelf and tossed them to me. I didn’t say it but they reminded me of the pair I wore to the White Party the night he fucked Danny.   
  
I’m not really sure what Brian likes better, acting out his fantasies in public or watching me do it for him. Tonight’s little charade required I start things off by picking up a couple of boys first. After we got to Phag, it took me about five minutes to interest a young guy in joining me on the dance floor, and another seven seconds to make it a threesome while Brian watched from above. Shortly after that I could see he had lured his prey in also. Handsome, nicely built, dishwater blonde hair…God, he is so predictable. I would have bet the loft the guy had an ample ass too, but I couldn’t see it from my vantage point.  
  
In a few minutes they were both down on the dance floor. Brian introduced me to his buddy, “Hugh,” and then started ordering me around, as planned, like some Sugar Daddy who has just found his boy misbehaving. I played along, and he hauled me off the floor and up to one of the ‘observation rooms’ with our newly acquired entourage in tow.   
  
We started our show with me sucking him off, and Brian was really getting into it. A little TOO into it, I might add. The fucker just about gave me whip-lash at one point by grabbing my hair and pulling me to my feet. Shit, that hurt!   
  
He wanted the second act to be a demonstration of his fucking technique, and I was happy to be his assistant. I was supposed to be hesitant about doing it in front of our audience, and I think I was giving an Oscar worthy performance when the son-of-a-bitch called me a slut! Let me tell you, power really goes to his head. Both of them.   
  
But I continued to play along. (Fuck, the things I do for him.) I dropped my drawers and bent over as instructed. The boys must have liked what they saw because they all stuck around to cheer us on. Hugh was busily fondling his crotch directly in front of me and my two initiated a little foreplay of their own while still getting a bird’s eye view of the Taylor-Kinney action taking place to their right. After the deed was done, they pulled me aside and tried to engage me while Hugh was more than happy to occupy Brian.   
  
We have both had plenty of experience dissuading tricks so this was no problem. I told the boys I needed a few minutes but encouraged them to continue. The red head was on his knees preparing tall, dark and skinny’s cock for a blowjob. I positioned myself behind my lanky friend and rubbed my hands down his back and ass, massaging as I went. He leaned back for long enough to comment, “That was hot, but why do you put up with so much shit from that guy?”   
  
Brian was still standing with his back to the wall a few feet behind us with Hugh fondling his chest. I told him that, aside from the obvious, Brian was independently wealthy. He had just purchased one of those yachts down in the marina, and this was the first leg of our Atlantic and Mediterranean cruise. I was praying that either my geographic recollection was correct or that he was too stupid to know better when I explained we would be skirting around France and Spain this fall and wintering in the Greek Isles.   
  
Just then I caught a glimpse of Hugh out of the corner of my eye. He appeared to be swabbing Brian’s throat with his tongue, and I didn’t notice much resistance from my husband. I was ready for this game to be over.   
  
“Carry on, boys,” I told my new found friends and bent down to retrieve my t-shirt. I backed up a step or two while slowly putting it on so I could over hear any conversation taking place between Brian and Hugh.   
  
“I live a short taxi ride from here. I’d love to show you my flat.” _Oh, fucking wonderful. The last thing I wanted was to continue this in his apartment._   
  
Brian asked, “Both of us?” _Damn it, Brian...nooooo! Don’t encourage him. Tremont was on my lips when I heard Hugh continue._  
  
“Not really. I don’t like threesomes…” _Thank god._ “ The boy would just be a complication, anyway." _Ha! You have no idea, you cunt._ "Let his little friends entertain him for a couple of hours…or overnight.” _My ass...motherfucker._   
  
I glanced over to see Hugh nearly on top of Brian with one hand stroking up his arm, shoulder, neck and finally settling on his cheek. I don't consider myself a violent person, but I was ready to break his fucking fingers. I moved closer still but kept my back to them. Tweedledee was coming in Tweedledum’s mouth at the moment so I’m quite certain Hugh assumed my attention was diverted elsewhere. That is, if he was even aware I was there.   
  
The asshole continued, “Or take the boy home and slip out after he’s asleep.” _Oh, come on. How juvenile can you get, Hughey?”_  
  
“What an…um…enticing invitation, Hugh." _What...the...fuck? Tremont! Tremont! The word was screaming to be said but I waited to hear what came next._  
  
“I’m sure it will be worth your while. I think you’ll find I need a bit of correction, myself.” _Nothing came next. Brian didn't say no. He DIDN'T say no!_  
  
I couldn't listen to any more. I felt sick. I turned and saw Hugh had his tongue in Brian’s ear. I forced a smile when I passed them, “Gotta use the can."  
  
I held on to the sink, closed my eyes and let my head drop until the room stopped spinning. I had to think fast. Was I going to go back out there and call him on it? Should I make a scene in the bar or wait till we got back to the hotel? Why, Brian? Why am I not enough for you? I took a few deep breaths, splashed water on my face and made my decision.   
  
I walked back out and he asked if I was ready to go. _More than ready, I thought._  
  
********************************************************************************  
Things were quiet…tense and quiet…in the cab on the way back to the hotel. I was looking out my window when Brian asked, “What’s wrong?” I shook my head dismissively and told him I had a headache. That was no lie. My head still hurt from where he had enthusiastically yanked my hair out and that, along with the overheard conversation, had resulted in a dull throbbing.   
  
“Sorry.” He wrapped his arm over my shoulder and pulled my head down into his lap. “Guess I got a little carried away there.” I let him massage my scalp while the words, “Do you want to go to fucking Hugh’s tonight?” rose in my throat and collided with each other right around my Adam’s apple. They formed a lump that ached to be released, but my brain wouldn’t allow it. Nope, I had decided that I was going to let Brian do what he does so well. He would show me how he felt with his actions, not his words.   
  
We stayed silent as we entered the hotel and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. I headed straight for the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth. When I finished we passed each other in the doorway. He knew it was more than a headache. “Is it because I called you a slut?” he asked, bending to give me a peck on the lips.   
  
“No, Brian, really…I’m tired, I have a headache, and I just want to go to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.”  
  
It was 1:15. I grabbed my cell phone while he was using the bathroom and set my alarm for 2:30. If he was going to leave, he’d be gone by then. I lay down and his body enveloped mine moments later. Soon I was dozing. I hadn’t expected to actually fall asleep but it was so warm and comfortable wrapped in my Brian Kinney security blanket that the next thing I knew, I was waking to an annoying buzz.  
  
God, I hate that disoriented feeling. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was and what was buzzing. I reached under the pillow for my cell and turned in an empty bed.   
“Brian…Brian?” I called for him in the darkness but there was no answer. My hand was frantically padding the empty space next to me to no avail. He was gone.   
  
Shit…Fuck…Damn it to hell.  
  
********************************************************************************

Like New York, London doesn’t get much shut-eye. There was still plenty of activity on the well-lit docks at a quarter to three in the morning. I had gotten up immediately after my discovery and threw on some clothes. My sleep schedule was really fucked anyway. It was going to take at least a week back home on Pittsburgh time to get regulated again. But right now, I had more important things to figure out than my sleeping patterns. I needed a cigarette and to be out of that room. Brian was somewhere in this town fucking Hugh, and I had to decide how I felt about that. Fuck, who was I kidding? I knew how I felt about that, what I had to decide was how I was going to handle the situation when he returned. I rode down the vacant elevator and nodded to the night attendant as I passed.   
  
It had cooled off considerably as I headed toward the docks, but I didn’t care. I was steamed. I had to sort out my thoughts so I would be ready for the inevitable confrontation with a clear head. This issue had simmered for far too long, and like it or not, I was going to have to deal with it. If Brian still wanted and needed other men, could I live with it?   
  
I rounded a corner and found myself at the Girl and Dolphin fountain that welcomes visitors to a nearby hotel. Sitting on the fountain’s edge, I gazed out at the Tower Bridge. It was lit in the night and it was breathtaking. These two elegantly massive structures seemed to stand as a metaphor of Brian and me and our relationship. Strong, proud, independent…connected forever by walkways that bind them together but still keep them distant. Always at arms’ length.   
  
We had come so far on this journey of ours. I had gotten everything I wanted. I vowed to take him “as is" and now I wondered if I was going to renege on that promise already. The time had come to face the music. I walked back slowly; knowing that if he hadn’t returned there was no way I would be falling asleep. It was about 3:30 when I entered the lobby. I hadn’t been gone all that long. The desk attendant seemed to recognize me, nodded and immediately picked up the phone. I assumed it was to let security know of a guest’s late arrival.   
  
He let someone know all right, but it wasn’t security. The elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor to Brian, bare-chested, jeans unbuttoned, and furious…or was that worry that had his cheeks flushed and his eyes flashing?   
  
“Justin,” he demanded, “where in the fuck were you?”  
  
I was stunned. “I think I should be asking you that question.”  
  
“I was here. You were nowhere to be found.”  
  
“No, you weren’t,” I said evenly and defiantly, “And I went for a walk.”  
  
We had reached our room now, and I slipped the keycard into the lock. Brian turned the latch and pushed the door open. I walked in and turned on him.  
  
“How was he, Brian?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Don’t play dumb with me. I heard your conversation with Hugh at the bar tonight. You were just waiting for me to fall asleep to make your move.”  
  
He stopped in his tracks and dropped his jaw before continuing, “It’s official. I married an idiot.”   
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Justin, I’ve been here all night. I couldn’t sleep and I knew I had a ton of e-mail to catch up on. I didn’t want to wake you so I got an idea. See that door over there?” He pointed to the wall near the desk. “It’s to the connecting room. I went down to the lobby and asked if it was available.”   
  
He walked over to the door, opened it and ushered me in. There, on the table sat his laptop and his papers. I stood in stunned silence, mouth gaping open.  
  
He turned to me and asked in an irritated tone, “Did you really think I would leave you in the middle of the night, in London, for some random one night stand? Has nothing sunk in yet, Justin? What the fuck is it going to take?” Irritation had turned to anger.   
  
I walked over to the bed and sat down on its edge. My elbows were on my knees and my face was buried in my hands. “Fuck, I am so sorry, Brian.” I looked up and he was seated beside me.   
  
“You damn well should be sorry.” He paused. “This isn’t going to work.”   
  
My voice was trembling when I spit out, “Us?”  
  
“Not if you don’t trust me.”  
  
“Brian, I do trust you...sort of. It’s just that…there’s something we haven’t discussed. I’m not even sure I can even handle your answer, but I have to know.” I took a big breath and let it out loudly. “Am I ever going to be enough for you, or are there always going to be other guys?”  
  
He lay back onto the bed with his arms outstretched. I swiveled around and looked down at him. A long moment passed while he studied my face thoughtfully. “I know what you want to hear, Justin, and I can’t tell you that.” My heart sank and my stomach did one of those sickening little flip-flop things. Then Brian continued, “I take my marriage vows too seriously.”  
  
“What?” Now I was totally confused.   
  
“Did you listen to what I said, Justin? They weren’t just pretty words. I gave you my promise of honesty, trust and devotion. I pledged to be by your side through the rest of our lives. I can’t honestly say there is never going to be another guy. We run in a world where that would be impossible or at least highly improbable. But if there is, when there is, it is only going to be with your permission and attendance. There’s never going to be another guy without you unless you want it that way. We’re partners in everything, Justin. Everything, always.”  
  
“Really?” I leaned closer, propped up on my right elbow and blinking furiously to try and contain the tears that were welling in my eyes.   
  
"I’m not interested in fucking other men, Justin. Why would I be when I have you? Am I proud of you? Fuck, yes. Am I going to want to show you off now and then? No doubt. Do you have a problem with that?”   
  
He drew me in for a kiss, and my tears spilled down my cheeks onto our lips. He caught one on his tongue, then carefully licked up first my left cheek, then the right. “My poor boy, I have put you through a hell of a lot over the years, haven’t I?” He asked with a smile and a slight chuckle.   
  
The sincerity in his gaze made my tears fall faster. I ducked my head into the crook of his neck. His arm held me close as he ran the fingers of his other hand through my hair again and again. The room was quiet as I struggled to get my tears under control. Finally I sat up a little, pulled my T-shirt off and used it to dry my face and his upper arm.   
  
I laughed a little shakily. “Okay,” I said, “queen-out over…I think.” I lay back down.  
  
“It better be over, asshole,” he said softly. He rolled on to his side and turned me so he could spoon me from my head, which was tucked under his chin, to his prehensile toes, which were busily pushing my sandals off my feet.   
  
I snuggled closer and wondered when asshole came to be a term of endearment. “You’ll always tell me before you fuck anyone but me?”  
  
“Justin, I just told you, I don't plan on fucking anybody but you. That however, does not exclude other, mutually-agreed-upon arrangements. Should anything change, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
"Okay," I said. “And the same goes for me.”   
  
“That’s right, and for fuck’s sake, get over this goddamn guilt thing.” He put his hand on my chin and gently turned my head until I was looking into his eyes. “We may be married, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t still homosexual men who may get high or loaded and horny, and do something unplanned, like your little incident in New York. If something happens, it happens, and you come home and tell me about it. And we take what precautions we need to take for however long we need to take them. It won’t be a deal breaker. Got it?”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
"Now get those fucking pants off and let me make love to you, damn it.” He let go of me, sat up, and stripped off his jeans.   
  
I followed suit with my shorts and lay down, my back to his chest again, his rapidly hardening dick lodged in my crack. Brian proceeded to do exactly what he said he would: he made slow, leisurely love to me. His hands roamed my body, touching me everywhere until I was squirming with excitement. He chuckled at my impatience, turned me on my stomach, and repeated his exploration with his mouth.   
  
The feel of your lover’s mouth on the back of your knees, on your instep, on your wrist, on the small of your back can be amazingly erotic when your whole body has been sensitized. Even though my cock was painfully hard and leaking, I gave myself up and let him take me however he wanted. I surrendered myself to him.   
  
Finally, when I was quivering all over, he turned me back on my side, wrapped himself around me, and entered me. Once completely in, he stopped moving, and we lay quietly for a long minute. When I couldn’t take it any longer…when I thought that any moment I would come spontaneously…I gasped, “Brian!”  
  
He tightened his grip on me, wrapping his right arm and leg around me even more firmly, and pulled me against his scorchingly hot body. He said, with an obvious effort, “Do you feel me in you?”  
  
“Goddamn it, of course I do. What the fuck…?”  
  
“Take a moment, and just concentrate on my dick in your ass.”  
  
“Okay. I’m trying, but I gotta tell you….”  
  
“Think you can remember what that feels like tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and a month from now or a year from now?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“The next time you have doubts about me, just ask yourself why the fuck I’d give this up…why the fuck I’d want to jeopardize feeling your hot ass squeezing the shit out of me…for some meaningless fuck with a guy I’m not going to remember a couple of hours later. Can you remember that, asshole?”  
  
Only Brian would pledge undying love in those terms. I laughed. “I’ll remember.”  
  
“Then remember this, too.” He slammed into me hard. I screamed. He closed his hand around my dick, and I came, still screaming. He followed me seconds later, his cum hot in my ass.   
  
I’m not sure whether I passed out then or just fell asleep, but the next thing I knew the grey August sunrise was creeping across the bed. Brian still slept, his limp cock pressed against my hip. I sighed happily, shut my eyes, and drifted.  
  
It was the last day of our honeymoon; a honeymoon that defined some guidelines of our unconventional marriage. Brian was right, this is not going to be an imitation of some happy hetero coupling. Fuck, our marriage isn’t even recognized in this country so why should we be bound by their rules? I’d be foolish to think that Brian Kinney ever will be. But I know his word is golden, and I know he loves me more than life itself. I am a lucky man.   
  
We spent our last day in London touring on foot. We took in a different club Friday night and had a much more sedate time. Pittsburgh welcomed us back at about 4:30 yesterday afternoon. The itinerary Brian provided for the extended family doesn't have us in until sometime on Monday. I know he's anxiously awaiting the looks on his staffs' faces when he walks into the office tomorrow morning around 10.   
  
He's there now, for a few hours, catching up, and I'm doing laundry and organizing pictures. At some point, unbeknownst to me, Brian snapped one of the Tower Bridge with the fountain in the foreground. It's that same spot I sat in last Thursday night, fretting over our relationship. I realize now that there was no need to. We are not like that bridge; stoic and distant. Nope, we are like the playful figures in the fountain that I had my back to all along. Brian turned my world upside down seven years ago, but I never lost my grip on him...and I never plan to.  
  
The End


End file.
